


I Wanna Get Outside (Of Me)

by emwebb17



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Agoraphobia, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Dom!Castiel, Dom/sub, M/M, Sub!Dean, Subdrop, for a complete list of sexual acts/scenes please see the "additional tags and warnings" chapter, mostly top!Cas bottom!Dean but they do switch, off screen canon minor character death, this fic does NOT contain non or dubcon watersports scat bloodplay or breathplay, violent but consentual scene, yes I know there is a misspelled tag
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-17
Updated: 2015-11-17
Packaged: 2018-05-01 21:29:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 142,717
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5221478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emwebb17/pseuds/emwebb17
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is a novice in the dom/sub world asked by his employer as a desperate last resort to be a sub for his recluse of a brother, Castiel.  Castiel is a diagnosed OCD suffering from PTSD and agoraphobia, mysophobia, and dystychiphobia.  Needless to say—he’s a mess who hasn’t stepped out of his home in literally seven years.  The only times Gabriel can see traces of the way his brother used to be is when he feels in control—specifically when he has control over a sub.  However, due to his idiosyncrasies and paranoia, keeping a sub around has been impossible.  Enter Dean, who’s not a very traditional submissive, to try his hand at subbing for the hermit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For more information on the contents of this work, please see the "Additional Tags and Warnings" chapter for a full list of sexual activities and situations that occur in this fic, including a more detailed description of each event broken down by chapter. The reason I did it this way is to avoid spoilers.
> 
> Please see the "Credits" chapter for additional information about the fic and all the people who helped make it happen.
> 
> Dean is employed as a stripper at the beginning of the fic; there are descriptions of minor consensual sexual contact between him and his clients. However, the only relationship in this fic is between Dean and Cas.
> 
> Dean's and Sam's ages are not canon compliant. Dean is 23 and Sam is 15. Cas is 34.
> 
> Even though he makes a very brief, one-time appearance, I feel like it should be noted that Uriel looks like the vessel he used in "The Song Remains the Same."

“Gentlemen!  And you naughty ladies!  Give it up for Michael!”

Dean hated this part the most.  The energy, the screams, the palpable lust in the air, the cash—all that was great.  What he hated was that after the number was over—and the crowd of horny businessmen and tipsy bachelorette partiers screamed and screeched so loudly that he was thankful he’d started wearing earplugs during his performances—he had to scamper around the stage and catwalk with his junk flinging about in a scrap of lime green fabric, a glorified piece of floss up his ass, and scoop up all the loose bills before the next act could start.  It was embarrassing to think that these revelers thought that he was that desperate for money when in actuality it was company policy to remove the slipping hazards for the next dancer.  If they sweated profusely they were also expected to wipe up any wet spots with a towel.  Dean had suggested at a staff meeting that they hire someone to clean the stages in between performances.  He’d had support right up until the owner had said that whomever they hired would keep anything he picked up off the stage.

Dean counted the bills that either hadn’t stayed in his G-string or never made it into it: thirteen dollars.  He didn’t think thirteen dollars was worth bending over and scrabbling money off the stage.  He pushed through the door to the changing room just as the music for Christian’s (aka Daniel) bad biker boy routine started.  Dean snorted in disdain again as he remembered when Sam had inadvertently discovered through a genealogy project for school that they were distantly ( _very_ distantly) related to the guy on their mother’s side.  He’d have thought that if they were going to be related to an asshole it would be on their father’s side.  Dean had considered telling Christian about the discovery for all of three nanoseconds before he realized that would mean he’d have to talk to the guy.

As he walked by his coworkers who were in various states of dress—or undress as it were—he carefully pulled the bills out of the waistband of his G-string.  There were even a couple bills tucked alongside his dick and one that was low enough down the back it was practically in his crack.  He didn’t think there was anything shameful about stripping, but there certainly wasn’t anything glamorous about it either.  He started sorting the bills.  Generally he got the same number of bills every time he danced (depending on the night of the week of course), but the denomination was always a surprise.  His G-string would usually get stuffed with forty to fifty bills in the space of a three minute song.  That meant he could make anywhere from forty bucks if he got all singles to the far-fetched possibility of five thousand dollars if they were all Benjamins.

Tonight he hadn’t gotten so lucky: forty-seven bucks.  On average he made about seventy or eighty dollars in dancing tips with mostly ones and a few fives and tens.  He’d get a twenty on occasion and one time a one hundred dollar bill had appeared.  He would have thought maybe it had been an accident, but the bill had been mostly wrapped around his cock by the time he pulled it out.  He remembered the guy who had held his ankle so he could put it there.  Gordon and Henriksen had bounced his creeper ass right out of the club.

Money wise that had been a good night; why-am-I-still-doing-this wise he’d been at about a four.  He only scored high on the maybe-I-should-quit scale when he gave private lap dances and he had to focus on faking it for one person for ten minutes.  The worst were the guys who wanted to maintain eye contact.  Not even the guys who broke the rules and tried to feel him up made him too uncomfortable.  He was a man, he understood the desire to touch, but eye contact?  Dean shuddered and threw his Stetson on top of the lockers.

He swirled the combination into the lock on his locker and got the stubborn door to open with a solid check from his elbow.  The crinkly stack of bills in his hand went into a large envelope that had his tips from the meager lunch crowd and the serving tips he’d gotten playing waiter in between dancing shifts.  He wondered if he’d be better off finding a club that allowed employees to be fulltime wait staff instead of pulling double duty, but even with only a “bad night” of forty-seven dollars in tips for his last dance, he couldn’t deny it was good pay for three minutes of work.

He used the shoehorn he kept in his locker to pull off the cowboy boots.  A couple of guys had worked with him on a way to try to get them off gracefully during the show or somehow rigging them into tear-away shoes, but Cole (his stage name was Ariel and who knew why the fuck he’d picked a name that reminded people of a ginger mermaid) pointed out that it was kinda hot for him to leave them on just like female strippers did with their heels.  Dean had had to glue rubber pieces onto the soles to keep them from sliding all over the stage, but it was nice not to have to worry about stepping barefoot on errant peanuts that always made it onto the stage every night.  Dean really wished Crowley would stop serving the damn things altogether.  People had peanut allergies—why possibly lose business over a legume?

Dean slipped off his G-string and tossed it along with his cowboy costume into the laundry bin.  He felt sorry for whoever’s job it was at the Laundromat who had to come to the club on Thursdays and Sundays and pick up the strippers’ dirty laundry.  Assless chaps, neon colored thongs, mesh shirts, and the occasional pair of thigh highs and panties (Thursday night was “ladies” night) had to make for an interesting sort job.

Slinging a clean towel over his shoulder, Dean walked stark naked through the room toward the bathroom in the back to take a shower.  Alfie (who must have chosen the stage name Samandriel just to skeeve Dean out since all the other guys called him Sami which just made Dean think of his brother while looking at a bunch of dongs) appeared by his side with a pleading look.  Dean raised an eyebrow at him.  The kid was twenty-five, two years older than Dean, but he looked about ten years younger and totally drew in the twink aficionados.

“Hi, Dean,” he began with a nervous smile.

“Alfie.”

The kid followed him into the bathroom; there was no such thing as modesty at Heavenly Host.  There were three shower heads against the back wall, and Dean stepped under the far left one and turned on the water to a warm spray.  He turned his back to the water so that he could face Alfie.  He ran his hands back through his hair.

“You know, I usually charge for this,” Dean said.

“Oh, sorry.”  Alfie blushed even though he had been looking at Dean’s face and didn’t seem remotely interested in his body.  Dean wasn’t certain he was even into guys at all.  Maybe he just stripped at Heavenly Host because the money was better at a gay club than one aimed at straight women.  Also, he doubted Alfie’s body type would be much of a draw at a straight club.

“So, I’ve asked everybody around and I’m really in a bind.  I need to take Thursday off for a study session, but since it’s not an emergency or for a test, Crowley says he won’t let me go unless I can find a replacement.  No one else can help.  Could you take my Thursday shift?  I’ll do anything.  Split tips for a week, give you any of my weekend hours, work a day that you want off...”

Alfie was directing some seriously pitiful eyes at him, and Dean liked him and wanted to help, but Thursdays…he’d worked a Thursday when he’d first started.  Exactly once.  Crowley made them work all the nights in the beginning to see what theme nights they fit into best and what their strengths were.  That one Thursday had found Dean trussed up in white thigh highs and pink panties and vowing to Crowley that he would quit before he ever worked another Thursday.  Crowley had agreed that his body type was a little too butch for it anyway.

Dean considered the possibility of working a Thursday night again—he had made more money that one night than he had all week on the other theme nights.  The problem though wasn’t that he hated the lingerie and the filthy things the patrons would say to him, but that maybe he’d liked it a little too much.  He’d gotten so lost in one private dance he hadn’t realized the customer had gotten a hand on his cock until he was about to come all over both of them.  Luckily Crowley hadn’t installed cameras in the private rooms yet, otherwise he might have been fired on the spot for allowing a customer to break so many rules.  He’d only been twenty then though and still reveling in the thrill of being able to openly (more or less) express his interest in men.  He didn’t have to hide it in the club and the liberating feeling had gone to his head.

“Please, Dean, can you help me out?”

“I don’t know, Alfie,” Dean hedged, “you know feminization isn’t really my thing.”

Alfie deflated.  “I know.  Would you at least be willing to come in to cover my tables so I can study between dance shifts?”

“I still have to wear the—stuff—though, right?”

Alfie’s shoulders slumped lower.  “Yeah.”

“Is there any way your study session can be moved to Friday or Wednesday?”

“The test is Friday and Crowley said I couldn’t pull off ‘Hunks of the Ancient World’ in order to work on Wednesday,” he griped.

Dean considered; Alfie would look pretty funny with a Spartan style loin cloth and cape slipping off his skinny frame.

“Hey,” Trey aka Uriel (and Dean didn’t understand why he had chosen a stage name that sounded so similar to urinal even if it was an archangel or whatever) said as he got under the showerhead next to Dean and turned on the water.  “You need someone to cover Ancient World Wednesday?”

“No,” Alfie sighed, “Ladies Night Thursday.”

“Oh.  This Thursday?”

Alfie nodded.  Trey thought about it as he soaped up his lithe body, hands running over his dark, perfect skin—not that Dean was noticing.

“I can do it.”

Alfie lit up.  “Really?  You don’t mind?”

Trey shrugged.  “It’s not really my scene, but it does pay well.”

Alfie nodded.  “Yes, it does.  So does being a minority.  Hard to find a black guy in panties in Nebraska.”

Trey shot him a look, but didn’t seem offended.  He finished rinsing off and glanced at Dean.

“You know, I usually charge for this,” he said, imitating Dean’s exact tone as he turned off the water.

Dean’s eyes snapped up from Trey’s groin and he blushed.

“Sorry.”

Trey just smiled and began toweling off.  “Guy as hot as you?  I’m actually flattered.”  He winked at Dean and tossed his towel onto Alfie’s head as he walked out of the bathroom.  Alfie pulled the white terrycloth off his head and looked back and forth between Dean and the now empty doorway.  He raised an eyebrow.

“You two ever…?” he trailed off.

Dean shook his head and rinsed the two in one shampoo/conditioner out of his hair.  “Nah.  He wishes though.”

“In your dreams, Winchester,” the man called back through the door.

Dean chuckled and Alfie twisted the towel in his hands.  Dean turned off the water and used his fresh towel to swipe the water from his body.

“Alfie, any particular reason you’re still hanging out watching me?”

“It’s not that bad, you know.  If you ever need to make some quick cash.  Ladies Night I mean.  It’s really no worse than a thong.  In some ways, better because they cover more.”

“It’s not the clothes.”

“The comments then?  What’s really the difference between some guy telling you to shake your cock in his face and one telling you to bend over and show him your cunt?”

Dean laughed mirthlessly.  “A lot, I’d say.  But, I mostly don’t want Crowley yelling at me for stretching out his wardrobe.”

Alfie smiled.  “You are rather large.  In a good way,” he hastened to add.

“Thanks, Alfie,” Dean replied dryly.  “Good luck on your test, okay?”

“Thanks, Dean, have a good night.”

Alfie rushed over to his locker to finish putting on his schoolboy uniform.  He was probably due on the stage in less than two minutes.  Dean changed into his street clothes and tucked the envelope with his money into the inner pocket of his leather jacket.  It was almost too warm in mid-March to be wearing it, but it hid the bulk of the envelope the best.  He was on his way out the door when Henriksen poked his head into the room and called out to him.

“Hey, what’s up, man?” Dean asked greeting him with a hand slap and fist bump.  “We still on for a pickup game on Saturday?”

“Yep.  Got a cousin bringing fresh blood.”

“Sounds good.”

“Yeah, I was checking if you were available for private dances tonight, but I see you’re on your way out.”

“Yeah, I pulled a double today.  Worked lunch and did private dances before my waiting shift.”

“Ah.  It’s just—Zachariah is here.”

Dean made a face.  He didn’t like the guy.  He really didn’t.  He was condescending and smug and insulting and wouldn’t let Dean get off his lap until he’d come in his pants right against Dean’s ass.  But he paid five hundred bucks for the twenty minutes it took to get him off.

Dean chewed on the inside of his cheek as he went over the monthly finances in his head.  Rent for next month was already covered, but the utility bills were due soon, and while the clunker he drove was paid for, the six month insurance premium was due on the eighteenth.  It was going to be almost a thousand dollars.  He needed to buy a newer, safer car to get that payment down.  He also bet that dropping his three DUI convictions father off the policy would bring that bill down.  Sam was bound to have some sort of school expense—afterschool clubs were going to start going on spring trips.  There were groceries to consider and gas money…

Dean cursed softly and let his bag slide from his shoulder to the floor.  He looked at Victor who was giving him a commiserating look.

“Tell him five minutes.”

“Okay,” Victor said and backed out of the room.

He heard tsking behind him and didn’t even need to turn to know that it was Nick (aka Lucifer—pretentious dick).

“Shut up,” Dean muttered and went to the dresser that stood next to the wardrobe of costumes.  In the second drawer were the size large thongs.  He pulled out a gold sequined one and took it back to his locker.  He quickly stripped and slid the gaudy thing on.  Zachariah liked bling.  He’d bought Dean a watch, cuff links, and a diamond encrusted cross necklace—all of which had gone to the pawn shop and paid for groceries for the Winchester family.  He kind of regretted not keeping the watch, it had been really nice, but he was worried what message that might send if Zachariah somehow saw him wearing it.

When he arrived at the back entrance to the private rooms, Victor gave him a thumbs up and the number three: Zachariah was ready in room number three.  Dean took in a deep breath, and then entered the room.  The man’s eyebrows rose as soon as he saw him already stripped down to the G-string.

“Eager tonight?” Zachariah asked.

“Off the clock, Zach.  We’re doing this fast and dirty tonight.”

The man smiled and Dean couldn’t believe how one look from this man could make him feel like the filthiest whore on the planet.

“Can’t say no to that.  Climb on.”  The man leaned back in the large leather chair, spread his legs, and then patted his thighs.

Dean crossed the room, his eyes flicking toward the iPad that stored a very large and eclectic collection of music.  Zachariah always asked for silence and Dean knew it was because it made the whole thing that much more intimate if they had to listen to their bodies grinding together and their breathing as it inevitably quickened and became shallow.  Dean straddled Zachariah’s legs and was about to sit on the bulge already tenting his dress slacks when Zach leaned forward to whisper in his ear.

“You want seven-fifty tonight?”

Dean hesitated.  An extra two hundred and fifty dollars if he opened Zach’s fly and rode him with just his tightie-whities and Dean’s thong between them.

Zach leaned even closer nosing Dean’s ear.  “We can do a thousand if you’d like.”

Skin to skin.  Dean shook his head, but reached down and unbuttoned and unzipped Zach’s fly.  His cock was about average size, but the white bulge against the dark pants made it look bigger.  Dean scooted close and slid down his client’s body until he was seated on his crotch.  Zachariah’s erection pressed between his ass cheeks and the man’s hands gripped the arms of the chair so tight his knuckles turned white.  Dean put one hand on Zach’s shoulder, the other behind his neck, and started to move.  He looked away, appearing coy, but really just wanting to avoid eye contact.

“One day,” Zach sighed.  “You’ll go for the grand.”

Dean didn’t respond; he just circled his hips down hard and Zachariah gasped.  Dean bit his lip as the clothed cock rubbed against his ass, pushed the cord of the thong against his rim, and nudged his balls with every movement.  He didn’t try to fight his forming erection—it made Zachariah get off faster.  He wasn’t attracted to the man, but friction was friction and he was young enough that his dick could almost perform on command.

Zachariah let his head fall back against the chair, but kept his eyes trained on Dean.  Dean spread his legs just a bit wider, pushing his shins down beside Zach’s thighs so that he could settle more completely on his cock.  He worked his hips faster and could tell by his breathing that Zachariah was already close.  He might be able to get this over with in less than five minutes.

“Why won’t you ever let us have these sessions in a more private location?” Zachariah wheezed as his hips swiveled up to meet Dean’s.

Dean knew he meant his house.  Since the third time Zachariah had asked for him, the man had been asking him to go with him to his house.  He’d offered an obscene amount of money, gifts, and favors, but Dean gave him the same answer every time.

“Because I’m not a whore.”

Zach grunted and let it go.  The guy was an asshole, but he somehow escaped being creepy.  He never pushed Dean or wheedled or made veiled threats.  He just made his offer and accepted Dean’s answer.  Even if the guy wasn’t a creep though, Dean would be way too nervous—scared—to go somewhere alone with the guy.  Plus, he _wasn’t_ a whore.  Well…he supposed that was a matter of opinion considering what his other job was.

Dean allowed his mind to drift to his other job at Sweet Things.  By day it was a mild mannered, anyone-welcome gay bar, by night it was a wild, anyone-welcome gay dance club.  But downstairs…night or day…it was a matchmaking service for dominants and submissives.  When the owner had work for him, which was a few times a month, Dean would make his way down there and sub for the kind of doms that got off pushing around a large, masculine man.  He was tied up, gagged, spanked, flogged, commanded to touch himself, commanded not to come, commanded to use dildos on himself, commanded to come exactly when the dom wanted him to.  But there was _never_ any intercourse.  He and the client may both get off during the scene, but there was no penetration, no blow jobs, not even handies.  That was how Dean justified to himself that he wasn’t whoring himself out—he didn’t actually have sex with anyone.  Sure there was an exchange of sexual favors for money, but that was no different than giving private lap dances at Heavenly Host.  Most people would say there was a marked difference between stripping and prostitution.

There was one guy—Ezekiel (obviously an alias)—his favorite thing to do was tie Dean’s wrists together and hang him naked from a hook on the wall so that his feet just barely touched the ground.  Then he’d blindfold him, slot their thighs together, and hump him until they both spilled their come over each other in a gently rolling wave of orgasm.  That was about as close as it got to sex for cash and Dean could live with it.

He focused on his last time with Zeke now, using the fantasy to work himself up.  Zachariah was cursing softly under him, praising him for getting so turned on.  Dean’s eyes snapped open when he felt the hands grab his hips.  He stopped moving immediately.

“Shit, sorry,” Zach moaned and put his hands back on the arm rests.

“S’okay,” Dean said and resumed his movement.  Zachariah wasn’t a creep (he kept reminding himself).  He very rarely broke the no touching rule and when he did he could tell it was due to losing himself in the moment and not trying to sneak a feel.

“I’ll give you the thousand anyway,” Zach panted, so close to the edge his whole body was locking up.  “Just come, Michael.  Come on me and I’ll give you the full grand.”

Dean gritted his teeth, knowing he shouldn’t, but he closed his eyes, increased his movement, and focused on the memory of the breathy noises Zeke had made in his ear as they’d humped against each other.  He heard Zachariah make his “Oh oh oh!” orgasm sounds in increasing pitch and volume.  The first time he’d heard it he’d almost laughed.  Dean ignored it now and ground down against Zachariah’s throbbing member and remembered how Zeke had shoved his leg up hard behind Dean’s balls as he’d come—and only then given Dean permission to do so as well.  Remembering Zeke’s roughened voice whispering that he was allowed to come tipped Dean over in the present.  He bit his lip hard to keep in his soft grunts and rutted against Zachariah until he was spent.  He opened his eyes and saw Zachariah gazing at him with glassy eyes.

“You’re beautiful, Michael,” the man said.  He raised a hand and gently brushed his knuckles against Dean’s cheek.

Dean braced his hands on the arm rests and slid off Zachariah’s lap.  He could see the fleshy outline of Zach’s dick through his wet briefs.  He didn’t even want to look down at the state of the thong he wore.  At least it had kept his jizz from getting onto Zachariah’s dress shirt.  The man waved a hand toward his suit jacket, which was hanging on a coat rack by the door.

“Bring me my wallet.  I gave Gordon—or Henricksen, can’t tell them apart in those dark halls—five hundred already.  Other half is in there.”

“Feeling optimistic tonight?” Dean asked as he dug in the coat pockets until he found the leather wallet.

“Apparently with good reason.”

“I don’t know.  You paid a thousand, but we didn’t go skin to skin.  That means you’ll have to up your offer for that.”

“Like you would ever agree to it.  It’s been a year, Michael.  I’ve given up.”

“Have you?” Dean asked innocently handing over the wallet.  “That’s sad.”

“Don’t get sassy with me.  It doesn’t become you.”  Zachariah dug out ten crisp fifty dollar bills and forked them over.  “Next time I pay a thousand dollars, it had better last more than five minutes.”

Dean smirked and didn’t insult the man by counting the bills.  “You’re saying you want me to be bad at my job?”

“I’m saying I want you to act like you’re enjoying it rather than closing your eyes, gritting your teeth, and trying to get through it.”

Dean’s smirk disappeared.  He dropped his eyes.  “It’s not—”

“I don’t expect you to actually be attracted to me, Michael.  I get it.  I’m twice your age, balding, paunchy around the middle.  All I’m asking is that for five hundred bucks, you fake it a little better.”

“I get hard,” Dean protested.  “And I just came all over myself.  How is that not good enough?”

“Because I can tell when you put yourself in a little fantasy world.  What do you picture?  Big, hairy bears?  Young, slim twinks?”  He made a face.  “Women?”

Dean folded the bills and squashed them in his fist.  “If you don’t like the services rendered, you don’t have to get serviced.”

Zachariah held up his hands.  “Fair enough, fair enough.  It was just a little…constructive criticism.”

“Unsolicited I might add,” Dean groused.

Zachariah just smiled and used a hand towel from the cabinet by the sink to clean out his underwear.

“I’m going to be out of town for the next month or so,” Zach said, zipping up.  “When I come back I’d like to book you for a private party.”

“We don’t book private shows for anything less than five people.”

“There will be ten of us.  Pick two other employees you like and are comfortable with.  We’ll probably want to observe more than participate.”

Zachariah gave him a look and Dean nodded his understanding.  A group of men would be paying the strippers to grind on each other while they ate dinner and watched.  Private parties paid a fuck ton of money, but it was so much more awkward to hump some guy you worked with every day than a stranger.  He’d only done a couple private parties and afterward it had been difficult to look those guys in the eye for a while.

“Just make the reservation with Crowley.”

“I already did.  And Michael?  Since it’s six weeks out, I expect that you won’t have a sudden conflict in your schedule.”

Dean shook his head.  “I’ll put it on my calendar.  In pen.”

Zachariah smiled at him and put on his suit coat.  “Excellent.  See you then.”

“Goodnight.”

Once the door was shut behind Zachariah, Dean rubbed his forehead with his fingers and sighed deeply.  Why couldn’t he make good money flipping burgers?  If he got the same pay, he’d have no problem cleaning out grease traps.

Dean used the small sink and another towel to clean himself up as best he could.  He didn’t really want the other guys to know that he’d let himself come.  It was technically against the rules, but most of the guys did it every now and then if they liked their client or knew it would get them a bigger tip.  The problem was that everyone had known he’d gone to see Zachariah and he didn’t want them to think the guy had gotten Dean off.  It had been via Zeke, but they wouldn’t know that.  Though apparently Zach did.  Dean scowled and threw the towel in the sink for the sanitizing staff to take care of.  He thought he’d been so clever by fantasizing about someone else when he was with the man.

Back in the locker room he discarded the soiled gold thong into the laundry bin and took another quick shower to rinse the night off.  When he was dressed and finally ready to leave, Henriksen popped back in and handed Dean two hundred and fifty dollars.  The arrangement was that Crowley paid them jack squat, but they were allowed to keep all tips from dancing and waiting, and got half of the money from private dances.  Dean was certain the strippers were getting the short end of the stick on the deal as there was a twenty dollar cover charge just to get in the door and the alcohol was outrageously overpriced.  However, it was better than some of the other clubs he’d heard of where the dancers had to pool all the tips and money they’d made each night, give thirty percent to the owner, twenty to the bartenders and wait staff, and then split the rest evenly amongst themselves.  At least Crowley’s way Dean knew he was getting what _he_ had earned.

With a few more ‘goodbyes’ and ‘see yas’ to the guys still working—it was barely past midnight and on weeknights the club ran until two—Dean walked out the back door.  On weekends the club actually offered a breakfast buffet for those who stayed overnight before they were kicked out.  Dean remembered one night some German tourist had had him sit on his lap all night while he fed him bits of brownie, and then sausage links in the morning.  His tab had been massive and Crowley had given Dean a ten percent cut of the bill in addition to the tip the guy had left behind.

Dean shook his head and smiled as he walked across the small backlot to his car.  He had all kinds of “this one time” stories.  Too bad he could never share them with anyone he knew outside of work.  His family thought that he bartended at a regular bar and his friends didn’t even know he was—gay?  Bisexual?  Whatever the hell it was when you liked fucking girls but loved sucking cock.  He dug in the front zippered pocket of his backpack for his car keys and saw his cell phone indicator blinking at him.  He pulled the device out, wondering if he had forgotten to tell Sam his schedule and the spaz was freaking out that he wasn’t home yet.  You get in one little car accident and undergo eighteen hours of surgery and all of a sudden everyone worried when you were fifteen minutes late to anything.

Dean swiped his thumb across the screen to pull down his list of notifications.  There was a junk email from Old Navy (no wonder his father always insisted they shop at Goodwill, they didn’t spam you with emails for the rest of your natural life for buying a five dollar tank top), a text from Sam asking him to put bok choy and apples on the grocery list (organic Dean, it doesn’t cost _that_ much more) since he wouldn’t see him before he left for school in the morning, and three missed calls and a text from Gabriel Milton, his boss at Sweet Things.  He probably had a client for him, but Dean was too tired and not in the mood.  Besides, he’d gotten enough money from Zachariah that he could pass on going to Sweet Things for a while.

Dean started deleting all the notifications (repeating Sam’s grocery request in his head until he could get his grocery list app opened) as he fumbled with the keys to the crappy blue ’83 Dart he drove under protest and out of necessity only.  Just after he cleared Gabriel’s missed calls (he hadn’t left any messages so it couldn’t be too important), he decided to go ahead and open the text.  He fell gracelessly into the driver’s side seat, slinging his backpack into the passenger seat.  He tapped Gabriel’s message open: R U free 2nite? We have 2 talk.

Dean rolled his eyes and started the car; Gabriel texted like a middle school kid.  He was about to put the phone in the cup holder and drive home, but something about the phrasing, such as it was, caught his attention.  Generally when Gabriel had work for him the messages were more along the lines of “B&D + U = $1000 4 2 hrs in or out?”  He never asked if Dean wanted to talk, or implied that they had to talk.  He got an unpleasant, twisting sensation in his stomach as he stared at the message.  Was Gabriel trying to fire him?  Or at least, tell him he wouldn’t need his services anymore?  Or was it something worse?

Technically Gabriel’s business was a “matchmaking” service, which meant people paid him to connect them with other people with similar interests.  It wouldn’t take much imagination to spin him as a pimp though, which wasn’t all that far from the truth since not only was there a finder’s fee, he also got fifteen percent of what the servicer earned.  Perhaps he’d been arrested and part of the plea deal was to turn over as many of his “tricks” as possible.  Dean grew cold at the thought of anyone he knew having to read the headline that he’d been arrested for kinky S&M prostitution.  The people who used Sweet Things to find compatible sexual partners definitely didn’t view it that way, but the media would go nuts with it.

Dean scowled and clicked off the radio, which was playing some Top 40 hit from the last radio station Sam had left it on, and decided he better call Gabriel before he freaked himself out over the message.  It was probably just Gabriel coming across a weird kink and seeing if Dean would be into it (or at least willing to participate) before making the match.  He tapped the phone’s screen way more times than Sam ever had to in order to make the damn thing work, and then settled back in his seat to wait for Gabriel to pick up.

“Dean,” Gabriel greeted after one and a half rings.  “You busy right now?”

“I just got off from a double at Heavenly Host.  I’m way too tired for anything unless you got a guy who’s into som-sono—that thing where they like to fuck sleeping people.”

“Somnophilia.”

“Yeah, that.”

“No, I don’t have a match for you tonight.  I…”

Dean waited, a little weirded out.  He didn’t think he’d ever heard Gabriel speechless before.

“I have a favor to ask.  And it’s a big one.  And I can’t ask it over the phone.”

“You need a patsy or something?” Dean groused.

“What?  No.  Please, Dean.  The first thing I did was find a police sergeant and an ADA with special proclivities and procured their loyal patronage.  What kind of fool do you take me for?”

“Uh, I—”

“Anyway, can you swing by tonight?  This is a personal favor for me, but it could be very lucrative for you.”

“Do I have to perform tonight at all?”

“No, no.  Just you and me.  Talking.”

Dean’s brow creased.  “Gabriel…that’s really fucking weird for us.”

He heard the man sigh heavily.  When he spoke again he sounded weary and…sad?  “I know it is, Dean.  Perhaps that will stress to you how important this is to me.  Frankly, I need help.”

“You need… _my_ help.”

“Maybe.  Maybe it won’t work out.  But, I have to ask.  But again, not over the phone.”

Dean looked at the time: 12:27.  He didn’t have to be back at Heavenly Host until five o’clock tomorrow evening, but he was working until closing.  He also had to go grocery shopping and fix the knob on the bathroom door and pick up Sam from school after debate team practice.

“Please, Dean,” Gabriel said softly.

He wasn’t begging, but his tone struck a chord in Dean.  Sweet Things was only a ten minute drive from Heavenly Host, and heading in the right direction.  Dean straightened in the bucket seat.

“Okay.  I can be there in like ten, fifteen minutes.”

“Thanks.  Come around to the back entrance.  Boris is working the door to the downstairs tonight and I told him you weren’t coming in.”

Dean grimaced.  “Gotcha.  See you in a few.”

Dean ended the call and began the short trek to Sweet Things.  Boris was a crazy motherfucker who worked as a bouncer for Gabriel in exchange for his matchmaking services.  He’d expressed interest in Dean to the point where Gabriel had had to inform him to back off or lose his job.  Dean couldn’t put his finger on why he wasn’t willing to sub for him—the guy just rubbed him the wrong way.  Maybe it was his vampire role play fetish.  Or his massive amounts of curly hair.  He was probably the only guy Dean knew who had worse hair than Sam.

Dean parked at the Wawa across the street from Sweet Things rather than fruitlessly circling the too small lot for the popular club looking for a space.  Dean knew the guard at the back door by face only, and fortunately he recognized Dean enough to punch in the code to unlock the door without asking him any questions.  Once inside the pounding bass from the club, though muted, vibrated in his bones.  He couldn’t understand how people could listen to “music” that loud for that long.  Sure he’d been topside a few times, danced and grinded with strangers on the dance floor, but after a couple hours of alcohol and noise that fell somewhere on the torture scale of loudness, it was time to move on.

Dean walked through the stripped down passageways the staff scurried around in and looked on with amusement as two of the undercover bouncers Gabriel used to police the dance floor escorted out a young man who looked like he’d hit his limit about five shots ago.  If the person was rowdy they just got kicked out; if they were too drunk to function they were put in a cab and sent to Open Meadows.  Open Meadows was an organization that gave the dangerously drunk and high a safe place to sober up and a ride to the hospital if necessary—and all they asked for in exchange was that you listen to them tell you how disappointed Jesus is with you while you’re nursing a massive hangover.  Dean had heard the spiel a few times during his first couple of years in Huntsville.  Fortunately his work schedule had broken him of the bad habit of drinking excessively to ease his boredom at living in a mid-sized city.  Well, that and a growing fear that he would turn into his father.

Dean, and he was certain this applied to his father as well, never thought they would end up settling in Huntsville, Nebraska.  It was a decently sized city with a Wal-Mart and a Costco; it had its own mall and two movie theaters; there was a bona fide “downtown” area as well as a good and bad side of the tracks.  But it was generic and sleepy and boasted no major company headquarters or processing centers to bring in money or jobs.  It was so Middle America and average that the wildest celebration all year was the annual Scarecrow Festival.  Decently sized city or not, they couldn’t completely escape the country in Nebraska.

Nor could they completely escape their past, no matter how hard their father had tried to make it disappear.  The reason they were in as random a place as Huntsville, Nebraska was because it was exactly halfway between Sioux Falls, South Dakota and Lawrence, Kansas.  In Sioux Falls was the man who had been Sam’s and Dean’s foster father through their formative years, and in Sam’s case, his earliest memories of the person he called “Dad.”  In Lawrence were their maternal grandparents, who had done their fair share of bringing up the Winchester boys too.  Their grandparents had threatened to sue for custody if John tried to take the boys too far or didn’t settle down somewhere, and Sam and Dean had refused to be more than a long day’s drive away from Bobby.  The compromise had been Nebraska.  Sam had two years and two months left of high school, and as soon as he got his college ticket out of there, Dean was going to take off too.  Probably to be a townie in whatever city Sam went to school in, but he was bound to pick some place better than Huntsville.

Dean’s musings were disturbed by raised voices coming from inside’s Gabriel’s office.  The door was cracked open, but Dean didn’t think he should interrupt.  It wasn’t common for a client to become unruly in the downstairs club, but Dean was thankful that Gabriel did not adopt a “the customer is always right” policy in regards to this kind of business.  Safety of his employees was his number one priority and he backed up his promise.

“I paid a lot of money for this, Milton!  The deal is you find me a submissive little bitch who likes to be tied up and I get to fuck her as hard as I want!”

“Are you demented?” Meg’s husky voice came through the door.  Dean was confused.  Meg was definitely a dom, not a submissive.

“I didn’t do anything that wasn’t in the agreed upon terms and this cunt barges in and—ah!”

Dean winced as he heard the sharp crack of something slapping skin.  He had a feeling Meg let the guy know how she felt about being referred to as a cunt.

“He was using barbed wire to tie Ruby up,” Meg said, calm as could be like she hadn’t just made a grown man squeak like a rat in a trap.  “That was not in the agreement.”

“It wasn’t _not_ in the agreement!  I said tied up, I didn’t say with what.”

“Well, unfortunately for you, bucko,” Gabriel finally joined the conversation, “that’s not how this works.  You have the least amount of say in any of these proceedings.  If you don’t stipulate something specifically in the prior agreement, the sub has the right to refuse anything she doesn’t want to do.”

“She has the right to refuse anything that _is_ in the agreement,” Meg added.

“You really think you can do business if you treat your customers like shit, Milton?”

“To be quite frank, I don’t need your business.  We don’t give out three strikes at this club, only one.”

“You can’t—!”

“You’re banned for life.”

“You can’t ban me for life!  I would never come back here!”

“However you want to look at it, Tim-ster.  Here’s a coupon for a free drink at the bar upstairs.  Thank you for visiting Sweet Things.”

“But, what—don’t touch me—”

The door swung open and Dean stepped back so that two burly staff security could escort a balding man in a business suit out by holding onto an arm each.  He was taken to the stairs that led back up to the ground level.

“Hey, Deano,” Meg said as she sauntered out of the room, Ruby following behind.

Ruby’s wrists were bandaged and there was an angry, red bite mark on the swell of her left breast.  Meg slapped his ass as she passed and Dean shot her an unamused look.  Ruby gave him a smile that was only a shadow of her usual smirk.

“Say hi to your little brother for me,” Ruby said.

“No way in hell,” Dean replied out of habit as he entered Gabriel’s office.  Ruby had seen a picture of Sam on his cell phone once and had been pestering him to introduce them for two months.  She was only five years older than Sam, but there was a huge difference between fifteen and twenty.

“Dean, hi.  Thank you so much for coming out on such short notice.  Shut the door, please.”

Dean shut the door and sat down in one of the chairs in front of his boss’ desk.  The man surprised him by walking around the desk and taking the chair next to him.  Gabriel sat back and twisted his hands over the armrests.  Dean decided he was going to let Gabriel be in charge of how this conversation went since he had no idea what it was about.  He looked around the office, noticing for the first time that it looked a bit like a public elementary school vice principal’s office with cheap furniture, cheap filing cabinets, and a jar of cheap candy on the desk.

Dean let his eyes wander back to Gabriel; he looked constipated.

“Sorry, freckles (Dean glared at the nickname), I’m not stalling on purpose here.  I’m just not sure how to broach the topic.  Do I tell you about my dilemma or entice you with money first?”

Dean shrugged.  “Whatever you decide, do it fast.  I need to be home as close to one as I can.”

Gabriel checked his watch and then twisted the extravagant piece of jewelry around his wrist.

“That doesn’t give me much time.”

“Does this require a long explanation?”

“Yes and no.”

“What’s the short version?”

“The short version?  Well, I guess it’s that I want to pay you to sub for someone full time.”

Dean took a few minutes to process that.  As far as he was aware, a full time sub generally meant a live-in sub.  Or at least one who spent anywhere from forty to eighty hours each week living at his dom’s home.  The arrangement was a rare one as people who agreed to a long-term dom/sub relationship were usually, well, in a _relationship_.  It also required people who were experienced and comfortable with the lifestyle.  Dean had been doing this for about a year, but had probably done no more than thirty sessions, the longest of which had only lasted four hours.  Dean was not the guy you went to when you were looking to hire a full time sub.  Dean didn’t get it, so he stated as much.

“I don’t get it.”

“Well, that’s probably because you only got the short version.”

Dean sighed loudly and dramatically.  Gabriel quirked a smile.

“So what’s the long version?”

“Well, the long version is that my little brother—is not himself.”

Dean waited.  And then, “I appreciate brevity at the moment, but I hope that’s not the entirety of the long version.”

Gabriel chuckled.  “No, it’s only the beginning.  You want a drink?  I want a drink.”

“Gabriel—”

“It’ll only be a moment.”  He picked up the receiver from the phone on his desk and pushed a series of three buttons.  “Kali, my fiery samosa.”  Dean heard shouting on the other end of the line.  “Can you make up one of those watermelon martinis with the sugar-cucumber rim?  Double the Midori.  Have one of the boys bring it down to my office.  Dean, you want anything?”

“Water.”

“And some water.  The good stuff.  None of that bottled tap water crap.  Thanks, babe.”

Gabriel hung up and settled back in the chair.  He started to chew on a fingernail.

“Gabriel, can you talk while we wait?”

“I don’t know.  I just—I’m really debating what to do and how much to tell you.  I mean, experience tells me that by being vague about the details, the end result is less than ideal.  If not outright disastrous.  But then, I don’t know you.  Or really any of the other guys who work here, so I don’t particularly feel like airing out all my dirty laundry.  Especially since it’s not even mine, it’s my brother’s.”

“Am I not the first person you’ve asked for help?” Dean asked, feeling oddly miffed.

“Not the first, not the second, not the tenth.  You’re kind of a last ditch effort here.  A last resort.  A Hail Mary.  Scraping the bottom of the—”

“I got it,” Dean interrupted.  “And I think I understand.  I’m certainly not ready to be a full time sub for someone, so you wouldn’t ask me.”

“Exactly.  Plus, there’s also the fact that you’re not even a real sub.”

Dean blinked in confusion.  Then he shook his head.  “What?”

Before Gabriel could answer, someone knocked on the door.  The man jumped from his seat and opened the door to retrieve his hot pink concoction.  It was full to the brim and he took a careful sip from it as he shut the door with his foot and handed Dean a bottle of Vox water.  Gabriel settled back in his seat, taking a longer draught from the oversized martini glass and Dean forgot the bottle in his hand.

“What do you mean I’m not a real sub?  Because I won’t have sex with clients?”

“No, not that at all.  Although, that’s another issue.”

“Dude, I’m tired.  Start making sense soon or I’m outta here.”

“Look, Dean, I’m not implying that there’s anything wrong with what you do or that you’re bad at it.  It’s just that, when I look for clients for you, I look for the guys who get off on bossing around someone larger than they are.  People who enjoy seeing defiance in your eyes and like to see you struggle a bit and fight it at first.  Quite frankly, I have to be very careful with you.  You straddle the line of rape fantasy.”

The bottle crinkled as he tightened his hands into fists.  He sat up straight and opened his mouth to protest.

“Not you,” Gabriel said.  “The client.  That’s why I’m careful to make sure I don’t pair you with someone who has that kind of fantasy.  I already have a couple people who specialize in that.”

Dean shuddered and unconsciously shifted away.  He couldn’t imagine why people would have those kinds of desires.

“I don’t get it.  What does that have to do with me not being a sub?  I let them tie me up, I let them be in control—I submit to them.”

“Well, sort of.  But that’s what they enjoy.  That you’re not really submitting to them, you’re being overpowered by them.  In a consensual kind of way.  Tell me, when one of them uses a paddle on you or nipple clamps—” Dean blushed furiously at the knowledge that his boss knew the kinds of things he did, but of course he did “—what makes you get off on it?”

“What?”

“You like it, don’t you?”

Dean felt dizzy with how hard he was blushing now.

“The question is why.  Why do like being spanked or having your nipples tortured into oversensitivity?  Is it because that’s what your dom wants?”

Dean’s brow creased.  “I don’t understand.”

“Exactly.  The thrill for you isn’t being obedient; it’s not being a good sub.  The thrill for you is the pain.  You’re actually more of a masochist than a submissive.”

“O-oh.”  Dean still felt embarrassed, but he didn’t know if this revelation was a good thing or a bad thing.  He supposed it didn’t make that much of a difference—one wasn’t weirder than the other.

“But, I have noticed that you enjoy orgasm denial.”

Dean covered his face with a hand.  “Do watch all your employee’s sessions?”

“Yes, but not for sexual reasons.  Here’s the thing, Dean.  I think you are submissive.  Deep inside you have a need not only for someone to take control, but for yourself to relinquish it.  Being tied up and manhandled and spanked or whatever feels good, but it’s just sex, more or less.  But when you have a dom who tells you that you can’t come—and you obey him—it heightens your pleasure.  It calms you down.  No matter how worked up you get with the need to come, when you’re not in control anymore, you feel free, don’t you?”

Dean picked at the label on the cylindrical bottle and couldn’t meet Gabriel’s eyes.  The man had put into words the feeling Dean had been unable to describe whenever he had his sessions with Zeke.  He wasn’t really attracted to him, found him a little annoying to be honest, but the release with him was always so good because Zeke had total control over it.

“I think you could not only enjoy being a real sub, but even benefit from it.  But the games you play with the clients you service here are usually power games, which there’s just an agreed upon understanding at the beginning who will eventually win.  That’s not a dominant/submissive relationship.  It’s kind of funny; you don’t fit into the B&D scene or the S&M scene.  You’re more of a B&M.”

“A BM?” Dean said dryly.  “That sounds sexy.”

Gabriel smiled around his drink as he took another large gulp.  “Anyway, if I thought you couldn’t truly be a submissive, and that you really aren’t one at all, I wouldn’t even be considering asking you this.”

Oh, right.  Dean was here to do Gabriel a favor involving his brother, not get his Cosmo score on “What Kind of Sex Fiend Are You?” quiz.  He cleared his throat and opened the bottle of water.  He took a sip and determined that it tasted exactly like the bottled tap water crap.

“So, you think I’m a submissive, but a very unknowledgeable one, and you want me to become a full time sub for your brother who is—‘not himself.’  Do I have it right so far?”

Gabriel set his drink down on the desk and then put his hands in his lap.  He kept his eyes focused on his hands.

“My little brother has always been a bit—on the quirky side shall we say.  He was diagnosed with OCD when he was thirteen.  Not the lights on and off and open and close doors and cabinets kind, but close to it.  He peels the labels off of everything, he picks at anything that isn’t smooth or flush.  It becomes a problem when he has uneven nails or scabs—he picks at them until his nails are nubs and small wounds won’t completely heal for months, leaving scars behind.  He also has a thing about orderliness.  He liked things clean then, not obsessively so, but clean for a child his age.  What he really got out of control about was organizing things.  Organizing by size, color, alphabetization—anything that could have an ‘order.’  And he got upset when things were disorderly and forgot about other tasks in lieu of ‘fixing the mess.’”

Gabriel smiled wryly.  “My sister and I were such total dicks.  If our parents told us to clean our rooms, we’d just find Cas and show it to him and let his neurosis do the work for us.  But we were kids too.  We didn’t get what it did to him.  But it wasn’t that bad then.  He could function in the real world.  He could cope with messes and disorder so long as they weren’t in his space.  He didn’t drop everything to organize a stranger’s purse on the bus, you know?”

Dean nodded, curious enough to be patient even though he didn’t know what this had to do with the mysterious little brother needing a sub.

“So.  He’s been like that since he was born.  It’s just in his nature.  And it was manageable.  In fact, after he was diagnosed and had it explained to him, he was able to control his tendencies better.  He was fine.  He went through high school and had some friends.  Played on the chess team, went on hikes with the nature club.  He went to college at Yale.  Smart little bugger.  Definitely made it out of Small Time, Nebraska unlike his siblings.”

Dean was surprised to learn that Gabriel was a Huntsville native, or least native to Nebraska.  Though he supposed one didn’t pick random cities in Nebraska when they decided to open up a gay bar and club.  One tended not to think of Nebraska at all when it came to LGBT entrepreneurial endeavors.

“So, I’m guessing something happened that made his OCD worse?”

Gabriel half shrugged.  “Kind of.  His OCD is about the same.  We were told that the term is offensive and disrespectful to sufferers of OCD, but ‘anal retentive’ is accurate.”

Dean let out a small huff of a laugh and gave Gabriel a reproving smile.

“That never really changed.  I just said he learned to manage it.  What happened to him—gave him PTSD.  And his OCD made him more susceptible to the ramifications of living with PTSD.  He doesn’t really have the anger though—it manifests itself more as fear.  Fear of everything.  The more we tried to get him help and to force him to start interacting with the world again, the more he withdrew and became fearful.

“You know, the modern age is so wonderful these days.  It’s possible to work out of your home and have everything you could possibly need delivered right to your doorstep.  It makes it completely possible to lock yourself away and never need to come out.”  Dean noticed Gabriel’s knuckles were white as he held his hands absolutely still.  “Castiel hasn’t left his condo in almost seven years.”

Dean felt his jaw drop open.  “He’s never gone outside at all?  Not even to the hallway or the lobby?”

Gabriel shook his head.  He hasn’t opened a window or his blackout curtains.  I’m not sure he’s even seen the sky or the sun outside of movies and television in years.”  He laughed bitterly.  “But he’s got his vitamin D supplement pills, so he’s fine.”

The man looked disgusted and Dean could tell that this was an argument he’d had with his brother more than once.

“What happened?” Dean couldn’t help but ask.  “What caused the PTSD?”

Gabriel crossed his legs and smoothed out a wrinkle in his khakis.  “That’s not anything you need to know to do this job.”

Dean tightened his lips, but accepted that answer.  “So, if he’s afraid of the world, why would he invite a stranger into his home?”

“He was into the d/s scene before he...well, before.  Being in control—it played to his desire for orderliness.  When he had control over something as uncontrollable and unpredictable as a human it made him feel like he had control of himself.  That he could control his illness and trust himself.  After he started doming, his OCD all but faded from his life except for when he was doming.  He was—good.  He was happy.”

Gabriel inhaled and exhaled deeply before continuing.  “After—well, after.  I did everything I could to try to help him.  Therapists, medication, hypnosis, any crack theory I could find.  And he was willing to try most of them.  That’s the worst part.  He feels guilty.  He feels like a burden or like he’s some shameful secret that my sister and I have to hide.  But it’s just about helping him.  It really is…ugh!”

Gabriel stood up and turned his back to Dean.  He saw him quickly moving his hand in front of his face and Dean looked at his feet to pretend like he didn’t notice his boss was fighting back tears.  Gabriel opened the jar of candy and pulled out a dum-dum.  He offered one to Dean who declined with a shake of his head.  Gabriel tossed the wrapper into the garbage and then sat back down with the lollipop tucked up into his cheek.

“So one day I decided that the poor guy hasn’t been laid, in like, years, so I asked one of my boys here to pay him a visit.  I brought the most submissive guy on my roster at the time, not because I thought Cas would be up for a scene, but because I needed a guy who could sit still and quiet for a long time and be patient enough to wait for Cas to get with the program.

“It did take a little bit of time to get us in the door, and even more time for Cas to finally go into the room with the guy, but he did go.  And he easily picked up on the guy’s submissive nature.  I hung around just in case shit went down.  I mean, Cas has never been violent, but he’d been secluded for so long I just didn’t know what to expect.  After about an hour I went in to take a peek and make sure everything was okay—and there was Cas, doming the hell out of Inias and the kid was loving it.  I was so shocked to see Cas being Cas that I didn’t even realize I was watching my brother do seriously kinky shit with one of my employees.”

Dean made a face.

“He was even better after they were done.  For a while.  I mean, he wasn’t ready to go outside, but we did order a pizza.  That was huge.  He doesn’t trust people to prepare his food, but that night I guess he’d worked up enough an appetite…” Gabriel chuckled and Dean shook his head.

“Dude, that’s your brother.”

“Exactly.  It _was_ my brother.  And I missed him.  So, I hired Inias to sub for him full time.  And it helped.  He got better and better.  His phobias dwindled and he wasn’t as scared and paranoid anymore.  I was so close to getting him to go outside again, but then Inias left.  Cas and Inias had enjoyed their time together, but it never developed into an emotional relationship.  So, when Inias decided to follow his boyfriend across country, I couldn’t convince him to stay.

“Cas regressed.  Really badly.  I’ve been supplying him with subs ever since—for oh, three years now.  With varying degrees of success.  No one has ever worked out as well as Inias did, but he’s had spurts of progress, and overall he was better.  Less stressed, more open to life.  But lately, over the past several months, he’s been withdrawing more and more and finding problems with the new subs.  The last five haven’t lasted longer than a week.  The most recent one he kicked out during the interview.  No one even got naked.”

“Interview?”

Gabriel sighed.  “He does have a process.  And now he’s worse than ever.  And maybe I should just give up and let him be.  But, I can’t.  I miss my brother.  And I love him.  And I’ve seen that he’s still in there and this is the only way I know that has helped him at all.  And I’m not ready to give up yet.”

Dean fidgeted in the following silence.  This was not just a job.  Gabriel was asking him to be some kind of sex therapy for his seriously disturbed brother.  He was asking him to take on a role that apparently he might not have the right constitution for.  Gabriel was asking not only for Dean to place a lot of trust in him, but also for Dean to be trustworthy with his personal business and his brother’s wellbeing.  This was a seriously heavy request.  So, Dean deflected.

“Wow.  So, you’ve had to go through this dozens of times?”

“Eh, not exactly.  I just told them that Cas was very _particular_.  I think sending them in blind is probably why there were so many problems.  A contract has to be signed before anything even happens, and I think Cas’ _thoroughness_ might have freaked one or two out.  That’s why I thought being up front about everything might yield better results.”

“But why me?”

Gabriel shrugged.  “You’re the bottom of the barrel, kiddo.  After you, I got nothing.  So, I need to provide you with the best possible chance of succeeding.”

Dean bobbed his head and examined his cuticles.  They were really fascinating.

“So, uh…” Gabriel trailed off.

“Look man, I’m really sorry about your brother.  And you’ve been good to me, in a lot of ways.  But this just seems—”

“Wait!  There is one more thing.  We haven’t discussed the subject of payment.”  Gabriel chuckled like he’d just told a joke.  Dean gave him a blank look.  Gabriel cleared his throat.  “Anywho, let me tell you what the job would entail and how you’d be compensated.  Cas will fight me on this, but my goal is to get him to agree to have you be with him in his apartment for eight hours on weekdays, both Friday and Saturday nights, and you can have your weeknights (except Friday), Saturday day, and all day Sunday off.

“That’s a lot of hours.”

Gabriel shrugged.  “It’s about seventy-two by my figuring.  But how many hours do you work at Heavenly Host right now?”

Dean calculated his hours including double shifts and the overnight shifts on weekends.  “I suppose it’s about that.  Sometimes more, sometimes less.”

“And you have to factor in the extra hours you pull in here.  I know it’s not a lot, but it is work.”

Dean gave a half-shrug.  Gabriel raised an eyebrow.

“You don’t consider it work.  Maybe there’s more sub in you than I thought.  How much do you make?”

Dean didn’t even pretend like he had to think about it.  He’d definitely parsed out how much he made working for Crowley—it was the only way he could justify to himself not trying to find a more legitimate job.  His friend, Benny, worked at La Rècolte, the only four star restaurant in Huntsville, to put himself through culinary school.  He easily cleared a couple hundred dollars on weekdays, and weekends could be double or triple that.  However, he had to stand on his feet for hours and carry around heavy trays that left him with a tweaked back and elbow.

Dean on the other hand only had to dance mostly naked for a few minutes a night, and deliver some drinks and an occasional appetizer.  Dancing tips, waiting tips, and his nominal hourly fee earned him an average of $1400 per week depending on the time of year, which theme nights he participated in, and if he worked six out of seven nights.  Discounting the approximate four weeks total he took off from work, usually around his birthday and Sam’s birthday as opposed to holidays, he made about $67,000 dollars a year.  About $44,000 was actually usable after taxes.  It was possible for a single person to live very comfortably on that kind of money, but Dean had to support his brother and father, save up for his brother’s college fund, and keep an emergency fund squirreled away for posting his father’s bail.

Dean wasn’t sure where Gabriel was going with the question, but he answered truthfully.  “I make between sixty-five and seventy thousand a year at Heavenly Host.  Another ten to twenty thousand from you, but I haven’t worked a full year for you yet, so I’m not sure.”

Gabriel nodded.  “That’s not bad.  It’s not engineering money, but it puts food on the table.”

Dean narrowed his eyes slightly.  Had Gabriel picked engineering at random?  Or had he somehow talked to someone who knew that when he’d graduated high school Dean had managed to get one year of college under his belt with the goal of getting a mechanical engineering degree before his father finally went off the rails for good.  It had been a long, winding, inevitable path from his mother’s death eleven years prior that resulted in Dean having to leave college to support his family.  But there’s no way Gabriel could know that; those two parts of his life didn’t intersect at all.  The man continued before Dean could think himself into a paranoid panic.

“How would you like to have enough money for food on the table, gas in the car, and one of those coconut drinks with the tiny umbrellas in your hand while you relax on a sunny beach in the Caribbean?”

Dean felt his face scrunch up into a mixture of reactions: confusion, longing, confusion again; mostly confusion.

“Gabriel,” Dean sighed, his exhaustion really starting to weigh on him.

“Okay, okay.  Look.  I’m asking you to be a full time sub for my brother.  Six days a week, you get weeknights off and all of Sunday.  And you’ll be compensated $2500 per week.  If you work, say, forty-eight weeks a year, that’s $120,000.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up.

“No stripping, no new clients, no creepy clients, no really late nights, a set schedule so you can actually make plans….what do you think?”

Dean exhaled slowly.  He wasn’t sure his brain was firing on all pistons.

“I’m not saying no, but I need to think about it when I’m more awake.”

“Of course.  I mean, I would need an answer by tomorrow morning.”

“What?”

“Just for the interview!  Not if you’ll take the job.  Hell, we don’t know if my brother will take you.”

Dean felt a bit miffed by that implication; he’d always been picked first or second in gym class.

“So, you want me to interview with your brother tomorrow morning?”

“Yes, if you can.  Please.  It’ll be a long interview, so I’ll compensate you for your time.”

Dean was tired and just wanted to go home.  “Sure, fine.  What time?”

“Can you meet me in the Sweet Things parking lot at eight?”

“In the morning?”

“Yes.  Cas has a schedule.”

“Gabriel, I’m not going to get home until almost two o’clock and you want me back here by eight?”

“Yes.  I’ll pay you two thousand.  Cash.  Under the table.”

Dean knew he couldn’t say no to that.  “Okay.  What should I wear?”

“Whatever you like.  I can’t give you any pointers; Cas will sniff that out.  Just be yourself.  Either he likes you or he doesn’t.”

“Fantastic.  So, I can be a total dick tomorrow so he won’t hire me and I’ll still get two grand?  I guess that’s worth getting up for.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes, but Dean could see the mild fear in them.

“Don’t worry.  I won’t throw the interview, but this is also an interview for me.  If I don’t feel comfortable or think it would be a bad match—I’m going to choose not to do it.”

“I understand.”

“Alright then,” Dean said while standing up.  “I’ll see you here tomorrow at eight, then.”

“Dean,” Gabriel said around chewing his thumbnail.  “There’s one more thing.”

“Of course there is.  What is it?”

“You’re—you’re going to be agreeing to…having sex with him.  I mean the whole enchilada.  Hands, mouths, dicks in all kinds of orifices.”

Dean froze, not sure how to process that.

“And…you’re going to have to get tested and provide proof that you’re clean.  So you can bareback.”

Dean’s brain kept glitching.

“And you’re going to have to be utterly monogamous so long as you’re with him.”

Dean gripped the back of the chair tightly.  He thought for a long moment before he looked at Gabriel.

“You’re asking me to cross that line.  Into prostitution.”

Gabriel kind of shrugged.  “Yes and no?  But, mostly yes.”

Dean started to shake his head but Gabriel said quickly, “Just interview with him.  Two thousand dollars to talk to him.”

Dean sighed heavily.  “Alright.  Fine.  See you tomorrow.”


	2. Chapter 2

Dean didn’t remember driving home or brushing his teeth or falling into bed.  He definitely didn’t remember setting his alarm, but he must have since it went off at six in the morning.  He snoozed it a couple of times which resulted in Sam beating him to the shower.  He tiredly trudged to the kitchen to start making them coffee.  Even after his first cup, it wasn’t helping him perk up.  It had been a long time since he’d had to survive on only four hours of sleep.

On his way to check on the shower, he opened the door to his father’s bedroom, not sure what he was going to find.  The man could be sleeping in his own piss and vomit or he could be missing.  He had no idea which one he hated more, but today he didn’t have time to clean up after his father.  He felt bad for hoping his father hadn’t made it home last night, but all he felt was relief when he saw the man’s empty bed.  He shut the door and passed Sam as he bounded down the hall to his room buck naked.

“You have to leave for the bus stop in twenty minutes, Sam.”

“I know!” he yelled through his door.

Dean was grateful he had decided to relocate them to the three bedroom apartment last year.  The rent took up most of their budget, but the privacy and personal space was worth it.  He kind of wished he’d moved them before Sam had discovered masturbation, but it hadn’t been financially possible three years ago when the kid had been between twelve and thirteen.  It had been a long two years of being locked out of his own bedroom and awkward squawking and pillows sent in his direction when he entered without knocking.  Now he just had to deal with washing stiff towels and socks, which was why he’d been willing to take on dishes in addition to cooking to make Sam in charge of laundry.  He didn’t know why the kid couldn’t just jerk off in the shower like normal people.  Maybe he didn’t have a good enough imagination and needed source material.

Dean took a quick shower just to freshen up the important bits, and then dressed in jeans and a green Henley.  Ordinarily he preferred to be in layers when put in an uncomfortable position, but he had a feeling he might get asked to disrobe at least to his underwear and he didn’t want to put on an awkward strip tease.

When he entered the kitchen area, Sam was sitting at the bar shoveling a bowl of cereal into his mouth and scribbling on what looked like math homework.  Dean quickly began assembling a ham and cheese sandwich while he scowled at his brother.

“Did you not finish your homework last night?”

Sam sighed but didn’t take his eyes off his work or answer.  Dean aggressively applied mayonnaise to the bread in his hand.

“Sam, we’ve talked about this.  You have to finish your homework before—”

“Before I can use the computer or watch TV.  I know.”

“If you know then why isn’t your homework done now?”

“Because.  There was a quest we had to—”  Sam cut himself off and slapped a hand over his mouth.

Dean finished assembling the sandwich and stuffed it into a sandwich bag.  As he talked he shoved the sandwich, an apple, and a Twinkie into a brown paper bag.

“Sam.  That World of Warcraft shit costs money.  Money we don’t really have right now.  And honestly, I don’t care about the money so much as the homework.  If you’re going to sneak around behind my back and charge shit to the card, just finish your damn homework first.”

Dean tossed the bag onto Sam’s homework and yanked open the refrigerator to fish out the orange juice.  He wanted to drink straight from the carton, but the thought of the backwash and germs on the cardboard grossed him out.  He pulled a glass out of the cabinet and gritted his teeth against Sam’s whining.

“What do you care?” Sam asked in a raised voice.  “You never did homework!  You dropped out of college.  You’re not Dad.  You can’t tell me—”

Dean slammed the orange juice carton and the glass onto the counter.  Sam jumped at the loud crash and was cowed by Dean’s glare.

“No, I’m not Dad.  Which is why I tell you what to do because I actually give a shit.  Look at me,” Dean said spreading out his arms.  “We live in a shitty apartment, paycheck to paycheck, without spending money for Warcraft bullshit.  Do you want this to be your life?  Do you want to be stuck in Huntsville?  Do you not want to go to college and follow your interests and do something with your life?”

Sam slumped down in his seat.  “No,” he groused.

“Then do your fucking homework, okay?”

Sam nodded and glumly finished his cereal.  Dean checked his wristwatch and cursed under his breath.  He put the orange juice back up and chugged the rest that was in the glass.  He wiped down the sink where juice had sloshed over when he’d lost his temper.  He washed the glass and told Sam to get his things together.  He checked his pockets for his wallet, phone, and keys, and then ushered Sam out the door as he attempted to stuff his notebook, textbook, and lunch into his backpack.

“So you have debate club after school today, right?” Dean asked as they walked down the three flights of stairs to the lobby of their building.

“Yeah,” Sam replied.

“Okay.  So, I’ll come pick you up at four, four thirty?”

“Five actually.  The club doesn’t start until three o’clock.”

“Two hours?  They’re working you guys too hard.”

“I thought hard work is how people got out of their shitty lives,” Sam grumbled.

Dean reached for the door to the exit of the stairwell, but before he could open it, Sam put a hand on his arm.

“Dean, wait.  I’m sorry.  I know—”

“Sam, don’t worry about it.  You’re fifteen, you’re an idiot.  And you’re entitled to be an asshole who takes everything for granted.”

“But I don’t want to be like that!  It’s not fair to you.  Teenagers are supposed to be dicks to their parents, not their put upon brother.”

“Put upon, huh?  Guess you haven’t been skipping your English homework.  Come on, nerd.”

Dean pushed through the door and Sam followed him, protesting.

“Dean, it’s not fair—”

“It’s not about fair, kiddo,” Dean said holding the lobby door open for him.  “It’s about doing what’s best for my family.  That’s what matters to me.  That’s why I do it.  Not because I’m obligated.”

“But, you don’t get angry or annoyed and you just put up with everything and you should yell at Dad and hate him and make him do what he’s supposed to do as a father!”

“Mm,” Dean hummed as he guided his ranting little brother down the sidewalk.  “You seem to have that covered all by yourself; I don’t want to impinge."

“Dean,” Sam said in a burst of exaggeration.  Dean grinned at him and nudged his shoulder.  Sam fought against a smile.  “You’re not funny.”

“I’m hilarious.”

“Seriously,” Sam groused.  “I don’t get how you’re so peppy all the time.”

“Peppy?”

“Okay, not the right world, but you know what I mean.”

“Welllllllll, I guess my job just gives me a lot of endorphins.  Endorphins make people happy.”

“And happy people don’t kill their husbands,” Sam said in an effected voice.

Dean raised an eyebrow at the kid.  “Is that a reference to something?”

“Uh, nothing I’ll own up to knowing.  But, how does being a bartender give you endorphins?”

Dean laughed.  “You’ll understand when you’re older.”

“I know what sex is.  You can’t have sex in a bar.”

Dean shot his brother an obnoxious grin and eyebrow wiggle.  “You sure about that?”

“Gross, Dean.”

They arrived at the corner and Dean ruffled Sam’s hair just to annoy him because there were already three other kids at the bus stop who were able to observe the teen’s life-ending humiliation.  He waved goodbye to him with one more verification that he’d pick Sam up at five, and then he crossed the street to walk the three blocks to where he’d parked his car.  He was starting to regret not paying the extra one hundred a month for a reserved parking space.

Dean got into the Dart and grabbed the wheel with both hands before starting it.  He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly.  Then he inhaled again, trying to calm himself down.  Every time Sam got upset about their father, Dean didn’t feel angry with John, he just felt like a failure.  He should do a better job of shielding Sam from the chaos their father caused.  All he could do was support his brother until he could escape their orbit.  Dean knew he’d be tethered to his father until the end, but he was going to give Sam every chance to make something of himself.

Dean raised his head and could practically feel himself nodding internally.  If he really wanted to give Sam a chance to go to a decent school—one outside of Nebraska—he needed to make some serious scratch.  He was going to have to ace this interview this morning.  And he was going to have to make peace with the fact that his job as a “paid sub” would definitely now mean prostitution in the truest sense of the word.  Fortunately (or unfortunately depending on the perspective he supposed), he hadn’t actually had sex with someone in almost six months; his tests should come back squeaky clean so he wouldn’t fail because of that.  He would only fail if he didn’t impress Gabriel’s brother.  Gabriel’s brother who had more psychological issues than a man who’d spent a fun night camping in the Forbidden Forest with Cthulhu.

Dean shook his head with a wry smile and started the car.  As he crawled through the traffic of downtown morning rush hour, he realized he’d never had to drive anywhere during rush hour before.  He had no idea a medium sized city in Nebraska even had traffic, but it was enough to make him fifteen minutes late to Sweet Things.  He’d barely parked the car before Gabriel appeared at the driver’s side window, waving him out.

“Hey,” Dean said, getting out.  “Sorry I’m late.  There was—ah!”

Dean let out an undignified squawk as Gabriel grabbed him by the wrist and hauled him toward his own car.

“Wait, I need to lock my car!”

“No one’s going to steal that POS.  I thought you might have been backing out on me.  I’m glad you’re here, but we’ve got to go.  I told Cas we’d be there at 8:30.”

“I take it punctuality is important?”

“Very.  Hop in.”  Gabriel walked around to the driver’s side of his silver BMW.  “He fired two subs for not showing up on time.  And one for not leaving on time.”

Dean groaned softly as he put on his seatbelt.  “Gabriel, maybe that’s your brother’s way of telling you he doesn’t want a sub but he doesn’t want to throw it in your face.”

“Oh, he’s told me before he doesn’t want me to keep searching for him, but every time I bring him someone new, I can see that spark in his eye.”

“You familiar with your brother’s bedroom eyes?” Dean asked, side-eyeing the man.

Gabriel peeled out of the parking lot and cut off two cars that honked angrily at him.  Dean held onto the handle attached to the ceiling and was grateful he’d buckled up.

“Not that kind of look,” Gabriel said, eyes concentrating on the road as he weaved through the urban traffic at highway speeds.  “Just a look like he’s interested in something.  Do you have any idea how hard it is to look at someone you love and see dull, lifeless eyes looking right through you?”

Dean thought about his father the mornings after really heavy drinking binges, but he didn’t share those empathetic memories with Gabriel.  Just because Dean was now privy to some personal details of Gabriel’s life didn’t mean he wanted his two lives to bleed into each other.

They cruised into a neighborhood that used to be the affluent part of Huntsville, but had become rundown over the years.  There were still a few luxury condominium buildings in the area, but a lot of the residents had moved to areas populated with Starbucks and Whole Foods.  Gabriel parked illegally in front of the building that still had the best upkeep and hurried Dean out of the car with hisses and clicks from his tongue.  Dean followed behind the short man as he entered the building using a key card.  The key card was also needed to activate the elevator, so even if someone got inside due to a careless resident, they still couldn’t get anywhere.

“Cas bought this place ten years ago,” Gabriel explained on the ride up to the twenty-first floor.  “That was before.  Well—”

“Before,” Dean finished for him.

“Exactly.  It was a really nice neighborhood back then and the place was really expensive.  He wouldn’t be able to sell it at half what he paid for it then, now.  Fortunately the management of the building hasn’t changed, so Cas’ routines haven’t been disturbed too much.  He probably wouldn’t even recognize the place if he went outside now.”

“And he hasn’t left this building in seven years?”

“He hasn’t left his condo.  I mean, it’s big, but…”

The doors opened and Gabriel came to a stop once they were standing in the hallway.  Dean turned back to look at him.

“Dean, please.  If you can, I need you to help him.”

Gabriel was looking at the carpet and Dean realized he wasn’t so much asking him to be the solution to Cas’ problems as he was voicing a desperate supplication.

“I won’t try to tank the interview, Gabriel,” he said, wanting to give the man some small measure of hope because this defeated, sad person was a stranger to him.  “I know how to obey orders.  If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s obeying orders.  Whether or not I’m a ‘true sub’ or whatever you called it and I enjoy obeying orders remains to be seen.  But, I can give him control.”

Gabriel met his eyes with a small smile.  “Thank you.”  Then he did a double raise of his eyebrows with that obnoxious trademark smirk of his.  “Now let’s go see if my little brother is interested in tying you up and spanking that pretty bubble butt of yours.”

Dean rolled his eyes, but walked with Gabriel down the hall.  It was a long hall and there were no doors set along it until they reached the midway point and there were two doors across from each other.

“Kind of a weird set up,” Dean observed.

“Penthouses,” Gabriel supplied.  “One on each half of the building.”

“You mean his condo is one entire half of the building?”

“Yep.  It’s how he justifies not going outside because he’s ‘not cooped up.’  Idiot.”

Gabriel stood outside the door and looked at his wristwatch.  He waited, and Dean waited.  Dean checked his watch: his said 8:34, but he kept his fast.  Gabriel was still watching the seconds tick away.

“You can’t seriously mean that I can only arrive exactly on the nose,” Dean said, already hating the job before he had it.

“That’s something you’ll have to discuss with him.  Perhaps you can put arrival and exiting times with a leeway caveat in the contract.”

“Have you considered just committing him somewhere against his will?” Dean muttered under his breath.

Gabriel shot him a dark look and Dean looked away.  A few moments later, Gabriel knocked on the door.  Dean half expected it to swing open immediately because the mystery brother was standing on the opposite side just waiting for them.  However, it was a few seconds before he could distinctly hear a couple footsteps as they shuffled on an uncarpeted floor behind the door.  The door opened just enough for Dean to get his first look at his potential client.

He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but this wasn’t it.  Well, no, he did know what he had been expecting.  He thought Gabriel’s brother would look like him: short, smarmy, and with the lion’s share of his genetic gifts being his intellect and wit.  In reality, Gabriel’s brother was almost as tall as Dean, dark haired, and handsome in an untraditional way.  Describing his eyes as blue was kind of like describing water as wet.  Dean was thrown off guard by the man’s good looks, and was even more surprised that he found the guy attractive, especially since he had to be at least ten years older than him.

It occurred to Dean that they were all just standing there, staring at each other.  He jolted himself into movement and stuck out his hand.  He barely even got out the first syllable of his greeting when Gabriel’s brother thrust out his hand and squirted something clear from a bottle onto his palm.  Dean looked down at his hand and then up at the man who was clutching a bottle of hand sanitizer.

“Please,” he said, his voice low and rough.

Dean glanced at Gabriel but he wouldn’t meet his eyes.  He rubbed his hands together to spread the hand sanitizer around.  Gabriel started pulling his shoes off and his brother disappeared to the other side of the door for a moment and returned with two large, plastic Ziploc bags.  Gabriel put his shoes in one and zipped them up, so Dean did the same (silently congratulating himself on wearing clean socks with no holes).  Only then did Castiel open the door wide enough for them to enter the condo.  They dropped their bagged shoes into a footlocker that sat to the right of the door and Castiel used a sock-footed toe to close the lid.  Once the door to the condo was shut, Dean saw the man’s shoulders relax minutely.  He decided to try his greeting again.  He stuck out his hand and was again cut off with another squirt of hand sanitizer.  He looked up at Castiel with a quirked eyebrow.

“You touched your shoes,” he gave by way of explanation.

Dean nodded and gave him a tight smile.  He rubbed the liquid over his hands and Gabriel held his hands out for a squirt.  Dean wondered if maybe this job wouldn’t involve any actual sex after all; there was no way someone this persnickety about germs would be okay with something as messy as sex.  He decided he would try to greet the man one more time, but he wasn’t going to bother sticking his hand out.

“Hi.  I’m Dean.  It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Milton.”

“Novak.”

“Pardon?”

“Novak is my surname.  Castiel Novak.”

Dean looked at Gabriel Milton.

“Did I mention he’s actually more of a stepbrother than a brother?” Gabriel said with a smile.  “Legally speaking.  We all grew up together though.  The Miltons and Novaks.  One big happy family.”

Dean nodded and then tilted his head slightly as he noticed a change in Castiel’s demeanor.  He was still wary and anxious, but before he had kind of been high energy.  Now he was decidedly gloomy.

“Anyway,” Gabriel said, clapping his hands and startling the other two.  “Should we have a seat and begin discussions?”

“You’re going to be here for the ‘negotiations?’” Dean asked.

“Not for the particulars of the sticky bits—”

“Gabriel,” Castiel sighed.

“—but for the initial introductions I’ll stick around.  After all, if he decides to dump you after the seventeenth question, there’s no sense in you just hanging around until I can come back to get you.”

“How many questions are there?” Dean asked with trepidation building in his gut.  He wasn’t prepared for a test.  At least, not the kind that didn’t involve showing how he looked naked and how far behind his back his arms could be lashed.

“It’s different every time,” Castiel said.  “It depends on your answers.”

Dean looked back and forth between the stepbrothers.  He tried to focus on the two thousand dollars (tax free) he was getting for being here, but he was feeling jerked around without the promise of coming when they were done.

“Okay, before we get started on—” Dean circled a hand in the air, “—all of that, can I ask a question?”

Gabriel’s eyes widened slightly as he looked at Dean, but he kept his mouth shut.  Castiel stared at him blankly for a moment and then gave a curt nod.

“Of course.  In the interview and negotiation phase, we are equals.”

Dean wasn’t sure how he felt about the implication that as Castiel’s sub he would be beneath him in some way.  Maybe he really wasn’t a sub; the idea of being someone’s pretend slave didn’t appeal to him.

“Okay, first off, do you even want this?”

Gabriel twitched and a small sound escaped his throat, but he kept himself in check.  Castiel’s eyes moved to Gabriel, but then refocused on Dean.

“That’s what the interview will help me determine.”

“No, I don’t mean me specifically, just a sub in general.  I don’t want to do this if you don’t want it.  If you’re not going to enjoy it, I certainly won’t enjoy it.”

“I see.”

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Gabriel deflating and shooting daggers out of his eyes.

“I appreciate your candor, Dean.”

Dean licked his lips, worried that he would be out two grand because Gabriel would claim he did tank the interview.

“I think,” Castiel said, “I would like…”  He paused, like the idea of doing something he actually wanted to do was a novel concept.  His eyes searched Dean’s for a moment, and then he allowed them to travel slowly down and back up his body.  When their eyes met again, Dean felt a small shiver run down his spine.  His lips parted involuntarily and he knew he wouldn’t be able to be the one who broke eye contact.  Several endless seconds later, Dean started yet again as Gabriel broke the silence.

“Well, now that the whole _want_ thing has been firmly established, can we move on to the interview?”

“Yes, of course,” Castiel said, his eyes darting around as he rubbed the back of his neck.

Dean knew the man had to be blushing, but he couldn’t see a change in his skin tone.  For a guy who had spent the last seven years indoors without even cracking the curtains, remarkably he didn’t resemble an albino.  His skin didn’t have that healthy glow to it that people got by getting a little sunlight every now and then, but he wasn’t pale or sickly looking.  He shuffled back, mumbling something about everyone taking a seat, and that was the first time Dean’s eyes moved past the captivating man.

The room they stood in was huge.  A collection of couches and chairs in greens and browns filled one end, with bookshelves of dark espresso colored wood lining the walls.  At the other end through a large cutaway that made a bar long enough for four stools was a spacious kitchen with white granite countertops and black appliances that were probably the originals installed ten years ago.  The whole kitchen appeared to be a stark play on black and white, and while it looked immaculate and well maintained, it was obvious the place was a little dated.

Probably about ten years, Dean thought.

The space between the kitchen and the den was void of furniture except for a single shelving unit that stood on a furry white rug of all things.  The unit was an odd four sided thing about three feet by three feet square and taller than Dean, clearly not meant to be put against a wall.  The birch colored wood was crisscrossed in odd patterns of slats in different widths, lengths, and heights.  There were black, silver, gold, wood, plastic, and metal 4x6 frames set on the shelves at what appeared to be random placement to him, but Dean was certain meant something to Castiel.  As far as he could tell there were no pictures in any of the frames, but there was something in them he couldn’t quite make out.

Dean followed Castiel and Gabriel to the collection of couches and noticed a single doorway in the back wall of the apartment, directly across from the exterior door, that he assumed led to the bedrooms and bathroom.  Dean glanced at the titles on the bookshelf closest to him as he rounded a sage green love seat.  The top half looked mostly like it was comprised of Elizabethan to Victorian era British literature, and the bottom half appeared to be the original text of works from somewhere in Asia.  At least that was Dean’s best guess based on some of the symbols he saw along the spines.

Castiel held out a hand indicating that Dean should sit on the middle cushion of one of the two brown couches that made a square around the glass topped coffee table in the middle.  Dean sat and immediately felt awkward as Castiel and Gabriel flanked him.  Gabriel leaned back into his seat, sprawling comfortably, while Castiel sat on the edge and as far away from Dean as he could manage.  Dean didn’t understand why the guy was sitting on the same couch at all if he was that uncomfortable about sitting near him.

The awkwardness only grew worse as Dean didn’t know which brother to look at, or if he should look at one at all.  Weren’t subs supposed to be meek or something like that?  Dean kept his eyes focused on the matching couch across from him; it looked like it had never been sat on before.  He wondered if Castiel liked to fuck his subs on these couches.  Then he realized the freak would probably be too worried about stains to do that.

“Dean,” Castiel said softly.

“Yes?” Dean asked, trying to cover his jumpy reaction.  He didn’t think he succeeded.

Out of his peripheral vision he saw Castiel pull a small notepad and pen out of his pocket.  He began jotting something down on the third page as he talked.

“I would like you to retrieve my laptop for me.  If you go through the doorway over there and turn left, you will find a room three doors down on your right.  Enter the room.  Do not turn on the light.  Immediately to your right is a table with a cat statuette on it.  Please move it a couple of inches to the right.  Then you may turn on the light.  Across the room is a dresser.  There are two books sitting on top of my laptop.  Move them to the side—you can choose which side—but place the top book on the bottom when you stack them.  Pick up the laptop and return to the small table.  Turn the lights off.  Move the cat statuette back to where you found it.  Leave the door open and return to us here.”  Castiel stopped talking and looked at Dean.  “Will you do that for me?”

Dean opened his mouth to respond, found he didn’t really know what to say, so he just nodded.  Castiel tore off the paper he had been writing on and held it out to Dean.

“Do you need to take these notes with you?”

Dean glanced at the page and realized Castiel had been writing out his instructions.  He glanced over the notes, and satisfied that he’d remembered everything by checking it on the page, he shook his head.

“I got it.”

The barest of smiles formed on Cas’ lips.  “Good.  Do it.”

Dean stood up and walked past Gabriel to head toward the doorway.  He knew he was being tested somehow, but following a list of arbitrary instructions and getting a laptop was easy enough.  Through the doorway he found himself in a long dark corridor.  It was only then that he realized that the front rooms had been extremely well lit with what had seemed like natural light to his eyes, but he knew couldn’t have been because the windows had all been covered in thick brown drapes.  Here in the corridor it was more apparent how shut in Castiel had made himself.  He glanced down both ends of the hallway, wondering why it had been constructed this way.  It was like a buffer between the front of Castiel’s condo and the back.  Neither end opened up into another room.  It was simply a hall with doors in it.  Dean turned to the left and walked to the third door.

He opened the door and it was pitch black inside.  The trickle of light from the opening in the hallway barely made it this far down and his first instinct was to turn on a light.  Then he remembered he was supposed to move the stupid cat first.  It probably wouldn’t hurt to turn on the light first, that way he wouldn’t accidentally knock it over while groping for it, but the cat came first.  He waited a moment for his eyes to adjust a bit, and then he just saw the outline of a round table to his right and a figure on top of it.  He moved the statuette a couple of inches to the right.  Then he blindly felt along the wall until he found the light switch.  He blinked away from the sudden light, and then gasped in horror.

The room was pink.  Pepto-Bismol pink.  There were noxiously cute posters on the wall of cats and puppies doing their best to “hang in there.”  The floor was tiled white and the round table to his right and the dresser across from him were white as well.  Other than that the room was devoid of furniture.  It was a nightmare and Dean was definitely feeling more anxious about the mental stability of his potential client.

But, he still had a job to do, so he crossed the room to the dresser.  He moved the books off to the left because there was more room on that side.  As he switched the top book to the bottom he saw that one was Machiavelli’s _The Prince_ and the other was Stephen Hawking’s _A Brief History of Time_.  Interesting choices.  He picked up the laptop and crossed the room again.  He shut off the light and reached for where he remembered the cat being now that darkness was hiding it.  He knocked into it with his hand and cursed under his breath as he righted it and put it back vaguely where it had started.  He left the door open and returned to the living room, his eyes smarting again at the change in light.  He held the laptop out to Castiel and the man took it with a grave expression.  Castiel motioned for Dean to sit down and he glanced at Gabriel before he did.  Had he passed?  Gabriel’s face gave him no clues.  He watched as Castiel opened and booted up the laptop.

“You should know, Dean,” Castiel said, “that I have every room in this condo wired with surveillance cameras.  It’s a comfort for me, but I understand that some people feel uncomfortable knowing their every action is being filmed.  It is a closed circuit system though; I’m the only one who would ever have access to it and I would never use the footage or post it anywhere without your consent.  Actually, I would never post it anywhere period, but you’ll have to agree to the cameras.  You’ll sign a waiver, and I’ll sign an agreement that I may not use any footage you appear in for any purpose not agreed upon by you.”

Dean glanced at Gabriel and the man shrugged.

“Uh, yeah, sure, I guess.”

“You guess?” Castiel asked, looking up from the program he was opening.  “Either you agree to being filmed constantly while in my condo or you don’t.”

“I—I agree.”  Dean didn’t think there would be harm in it, although he wondered if he was going to need to retain a lawyer for this contract negotiation.

Castiel nodded curtly and returned his attention to the laptop.  He opened a folder that contained several files and opened one labeled “Punishment Room.”  He then clicked on a video file and moved the time bar over until the timestamp on the black screen was roughly from a couple of minutes ago.  He clicked play.  After a few moments, the sound of a door opening came out over the speakers and the video clearly became that of Dean entering the pink nightmare room.  Gabriel snorted in amusement when he saw Dean’s reaction to the room.  Castiel had no other reaction other than intense concentration.  Dean watched Castiel’s face as Castiel watched him follow the instructions of retrieving the laptop.  He realized now why one of the instructions was to move the cat statuette back to where it had started.  Someone could have ignored that order and just moved the books to pretend like he had obeyed, including turning the lights on first.  That small little smile came back to Castiel’s face as he watched Dean obey his orders even though (to Dean’s knowledge) no one would ever know if he had followed them to the letter or not.

When the video was over, Castiel closed it out and turned to Dean.  “Good boy.”

Dean clenched his jaw to stop himself from having any other reaction.  He felt like a live wire—charged and vibrating with potential energy just from one little praise from a total stranger.  He was also feeling a delightful tingling in his groin that he didn’t want to think about.  Castiel looked past him and Dean relaxed with a relieved exhale to be released from Castiel’s stare.

“You can go now, Gabriel.  Dean and I have a lot to discuss.  I’ll call you when we’re done here.”

Gabriel stood up and patted Dean on the shoulder.  “See you in a few hours.”

Few hours?  “Um, wait, what, so did I pass?”

“Phase one,” Gabriel said with a laugh.  “Now comes the discussion of the sticky bits: who puts what where and for how long and all that jizz.  I mean jazz.”

“Gabriel,” Castiel sighed.

“I don’t need to be around for that.  Later, bro.”

Castiel stood up and followed Gabriel to the door.  They had a brief, hushed conversation while Gabriel put his shoes back on.  Then Gabriel was gone, leaving Dean alone with a man who was wiping down the doorknob with a Clorox wipe.  Only now did Dean see the table next to the door that held cleaning supplies and hand sanitizer.  There was also a small trashcan nearby.  Castiel looked up at Dean after reapplying hand sanitizer.

“Dean, will you please get my laptop and follow me?”

Dean swallowed nervously.  He didn’t bother to reply verbally and just picked up the computer.  He followed Castiel through the kitchen to the other side where a formal dining table was sitting under a modern, wood chandelier.  It didn’t look like it had come with the place, so maybe he did update things from time to time.

Dean was looking around the room, still goggling over the fact the condo was even bigger than he’d originally thought, when Castiel spoke softly from right next to him.

“May I touch you?”

Dean barely refrained from flinching and looked at him.  He was standing awfully close.

“Um.  Sure.”

Castiel’s hand barely ghosted down the sleeve of his Henley, but Dean could just feel it and he wished the man would make more solid contact.  But he didn’t, and then he moved to sit at the table.

“My computer, please?”

Dean handed him the laptop and remained standing.  Castiel glanced up at him and gave him a tight, wary smile.  He’d changed again.  After he’d watched Dean obey his orders, he’d been relaxed.  Now he was tense and curled in on himself.

“Please have a seat, Dean, and be aware that as of now we are not participating in a dom/sub relationship.  It’s important that we are both able to talk freely about what we are and are not willing to do without that—dynamic—obscuring anything.”

Dean nodded and sat down across from Castiel whose attention was mainly on his computer.

“Also, please feel free to ask me any questions you may have.”

Dean had a ton of questions, but he was currently blanking on all of them.  God, he was going to wind up having to drink this guy’s golden showers if he didn’t get his shit together.

“No water sports,” Dean blurted out.

Castiel raised his head, blinking owlishly at his outburst.

“Um.  Agreed.  No scat or blood play either.  All other bodily fluids are on the table.  Well, that’s not where I usually begin these negotiations, but we can—”

“Wait, wait, what other bodily fluids?”

“Sweat, saliva, semen.  Tears.”

“Tears?”

“If I do my job right you’ll be crying with gratitude and relief when we’re finished.”

Dean’s jaw dropped.  He immediately snapped his mouth shut.  That certainly didn’t even come close to the dirtiest or kinkiest thing anyone had ever said to him, but it had been delivered in the most neutral and blasé tone of voice that a promise of a sexual act had ever been said to him.  He considered what the reality of that statement might be like, and couldn’t bring himself to say no to it.  So, he nodded his head.

“I really am going to need verbal confirmation from you on most things,” Castiel said as he paused in his typing and looked up at Dean.

“Sweat, saliva, tears—okay.  Semen…will need some caveats.”

“Of course.  You’re aware that Gabriel does in house blood collections at his club and then uses his connection at the free clinic to get quick, anonymous results.”

Dean nodded, and then remembered to say, “Yes.”  Gabriel had tested him when he’d first started working at Sweet Things.

“If we agree to enter into this arrangement, we will have Gabriel draw our blood here, together.  So we can both see that we are in fact using our own blood.  His contact should be able to get us the results in a week or less.  Once we are both declared negative for everything—”

“Including HPV?”

“Including HPV—then we will begin Day One.  If either of us fails the test, we will terminate all negotiations and void the contract.  Do you anticipate turning up positive for anything?”

“No.  I just don’t think I’ve ever been tested for HPV.  Everything else is negative though.”

“Hm.  Well, I guess we shall see.  In addition to being negative for all STD’s, I must require that you not use any recreational drugs for the duration of our arrangement and keep your drinking to a minimum.”

“Not even weed?”

Castiel gave him a withering look over the laptop.  “Is weed a recreational drug?”

“Yes,” Dean grumbled.

“Then you’ve answered your own question.”

He returned to typing and Dean slumped down in his chair.  What a dick.

“I do perform random drug testing from time to time.”

“Are you shitting me?”

“No.  You must also remain completely monogamous during the arrangement.  Not just intercourse, but all forms of sexual contact.  If you have a significant other, you might want to reconsider taking on this job.”

“I’m single.”

“Good.  Then it shouldn’t be a problem.  I’ll keep you satisfied enough that you won’t stray.”

“Will you now?”

Castiel looked at him again and arched a calculating eyebrow.  Dean shifted in his seat.

“Count on it.  You will also submit to an STD screening panel every three months.”

“Not very trusting, are you?”

“No,” Castel bit the word off.  “If that’s a problem, we don’t have to go any further with this interview.”

“Isn’t the whole dominant/submissive thing built on trust?”

Castiel’s bristling subsided somewhat and he looked at Dean for a long time.  Finally, he said, “Yes, you’re right.  But trust must be earned.  Let’s see where we are in six months.”

Dean tried to minimize his eye roll.

“Now, let’s go over some generic house rules before we discuss the particulars of our arrangement.  When you first arrive, you must take your shoes off _before_ you come inside.  There will always be plastic bags available.  Please seal your shoes inside one and place them in the footlocker.  Two, none of the rooms in this condo are ‘forbidden’ or ‘secret’ or some such nonsense, but I request you respect my privacy and not snoop.  Three, you are welcome to any food in the panty and refrigerator; I ask that you not bring in any outside food or drink.  Four, please do not move anything.  This includes but is not limited to furniture, books, items on shelves, toiletries, toys, et cetera.  And finally, never open the curtains in any room.  Please.  Don’t open them.  Even if I’m not in the room.”

Dean nodded.  “Okay.  Shoes off, no snooping, no outside food, don’t move anything especially the curtains.”

Castiel nodded and gave him a perfunctory smile.  “Yes, excellent.  Do you have rules?”

“It’s not my place.  I assume all the rules involving me will fall within our arrangement.”

“Not necessarily.  Your outside life won’t disappear because you’re in here.”

Dean thought for a moment.  “Oh.  My cell phone.  I can keep it on vibrate, but I need to have it in whatever room I’m in.  I’m basically my little brother’s guardian and I need to be available to him if he needs me.”

Castiel nodded.  “Understandable.”  He typed something on the computer, paused and looked at Dean, and then seemed to reconsider asking him something.  He typed some more and Dean was grateful that for once someone didn’t ask for the gritty details of why a twenty-three year old was responsible for his younger brother.  Dean wasn’t sure if Castiel was just returning the favor of respecting Dean’s privacy, or if he just didn’t care.

“Anything else?” Castiel asked.

Dean hated being put on the spot; he never remembered the important stuff in situations like this.

“I can’t think of anything at the moment.  But, maybe we can make it so we can make changes as things come up?”

“That’s acceptable.  Although making too many changes too often is not something I can really work around.  And this only applies to our personal rules.  The rules regarding our arrangement must be steadfast.”

“Okay.  But, even within the arrangement, sometimes shit happens.”

“I thought we agreed on no scat.”

Dean was having a hard time not reaching across the table and shaking the guy.  “No, I mean, life is unpredictable, so—”

“Not in my world.  I’ve designed it that way.  If you can’t keep up your end this won’t work.”

“I can’t control other people!  What if I get into a car accident and can’t make it one night?”

“Well, that falls under personal; not the arrangement.  Let me add that now.  ‘All forms of vehicle travails including but not limited to accidents, traffic, parts malfunctions, and stolen property are acceptable reasons for missing an appointment so long as Party B (that’s you by the way) gives Party A notification of any delays or cancelations within thirty minutes of the incident.’  Sound fair?”

“Uh…yeah.”

“Considering you are responsible for a minor, I already took the liberty of adding in a thirty minute cancellation notice in the event of your brother needing you for medical emergencies, school related matters, et cetera.”

“Uh…thanks.”

“Like you said, we can always add more later if necessary.  I understand that life on the outside is disorderly and problematic.  I can work around it if you’re willing to work with me.”

“Um, sure.”  _Life on the outside?_

“Okay then.  That’s my personal rules and your personal rules with a caveat that they can be adjusted as, you say, shit happens.”

Dean quirked a smile and looked down at his watch.  Twenty minutes and they’d barely managed to discuss getting in the front door.  He waited while Castiel clacked away at his keyboard.  He wondered if he was really typing anything or if he was just faking it.  The man did a double hard return and then clicked the mouse button a few times.  Finally he looked up at Dean with a tight smile, but there was a definite gleam in his eye that made Dean sit up a little straighter.

“Now let’s discuss—our arrangement.”

Dean squirmed again and rubbed his hands on his thighs so he wouldn’t try to touch himself.  He was amazed by the effect Castiel had on him.  If he could excite Dean like this by just talking about what they would be doing together, what would it be like to have it actually done to him?

“We’ve discussed bodily fluids already, that’s Section Four, Item A, so let’s backtrack to Section One: physicality.  Item A: touching.”

Dean let out a small laugh.  “Uh, obviously touching is okay.”

“What kinds though?  Gentle, caressing touches?”

“Sure, of course.”

“Hm.”  Castiel typed something.

“What?  Is that weird?”

“Some subs don’t like anything gentle or personal or overly intimate.  Not during business arrangements.”

“I see.”

“Have you changed your mind?”

“No.  Gentle is good.”

“Hm.  Gentle is good.”

“ _What_?!”

Castiel looked up, startled.  “Is something the matter?”

“What was that?  That little ‘hm’ and typing?”

“I was just adding that you’re more than ‘okay’ with gentle touches.  You’re ‘good’ with them.  I like that.  I like intimacy.  I don’t like being a dom because I like to slap people around.  I can’t imagine a worse reason or person to be one.”

Dean nodded, speechless.

“So you are good with it?  If I run my fingertips down your spine, caress your inner thighs?”

Dean shifted and tried not to blush as he looked at the table.  “Y-yeah.  S’good.”

“Hm.”

“Now what?!”

“I like when you blush.”

“Jesus,” Dean muttered and crossed his arms in a huff.

“Item B: spanking, paddling, flogging.”

Castiel looked up like he was taking his order at a coffee shop.

Dean’s flush wasn’t fading anytime soon.  “I’m not opposed to any of those things so long as consent is asked before it is administered and you don’t go overboard.  You can’t break the skin.”

“Can I leave a mark?”

“Anywhere my clothes cover.”

“Hm.”  Castiel frowned.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, nothing.  I’m just disappointed I can’t mark your neck—it’s exquisite.”

“ _Exquis_ —uh.  It’s just a neck.”

“I quite like it.  So if I can’t mark it, how do you feel about collars?”

“Um.  I—”

“No, no, that’s Section Three.  Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.  You sign off on Item B if I ask for consent every time and don’t break the skin or push you farther than you’re willing to go?”

Dean nodded, for some reason feeling more embarrassed than he did the first time he stripped.

“Dean, I need verbal acknowledgement, please.”

“Fine, yes, Item B is passed with the full backing of Congress.”

Castiel smiled.  Like a real, normal-sized smile.

“So noted, Senator Winchester.  Would you like something to drink?  I’m going to get some water.”

“Water is good.”

Castiel stood up and walked into the kitchen.  Dean exhaled slowly and sat up straight in his chair again.  It was cushioned, but it was still a dining room chair and not terribly comfortable for prolonged sitting.  He glanced at the wall at the end of the table.  There must be a huge window behind the brown curtains that hung thick and oppressive like petrified molasses.  He glanced up at the ceiling and saw long, tube light bulbs lining the walls.  It was these bulbs that supplied the light that made it seem like he was sitting in a room with a lot of windows on a sunny day.

“Blue temperature.”

“Huh?” Dean grunted, looking at Castiel who had returned with two sealed bottles of water.  Dean took one as Castiel explained.  “The bulbs make light in the blue wavelength of the color spectrum.  That’s the actual color of our sun: blue, not yellow.  It’s why the light in here seems ‘natural.’  I have it set to dim with the corresponding time of sunset and then I switch to normal lamps and light fixtures.  It gives me real days and nights.”

Dean opened his bottle and took a sip so that his facial features wouldn’t betray his complete disagreement with Castiel’s perception of reality.  Castiel took his seat and then took a couple of sips of water.  He put the cap back on and situated the bottle so that the label was facing out.

“Shall we continue?”

“Okay.  Section Two, I guess?”

“Oh no.  We’re still in Section One: Touching.  Item C: Manhandling, slapping, roughness, pinching.”

“Um.  That’s fine.  No explicit consent needed.  It just can’t be so rough as to result in injury.”

“Of course not.  Nails?”

“Like, a hammer and nails?”

Castiel put a hand out and dragged his nails over the wooden table.  The soft catch of his nails in the tiny wood grains made Dean bite his lip.  He met Castiel’s eyes.

“Have at it.  Just don’t break the skin.”

“Okay.  Item D: unconventional body parts.”

Dean blinked.  “Come again?”

“Ears?”

“As long as you don’t put anything weird in them.”

“Nose?”

Dean made a face.  “I’d rather you not sexualize my nose.”

Castiel let out a small huff of air.  He thought he might have actually made the guy laugh.

“Mouth?”

“Yeah, you can touch my mouth.  But how is that unconventional?”

“I mean in the sense if I want to put my fingers or penis in it.”

Dean felt embarrassed again.  Geez.  A guy telling him he wanted to skullfuck him with his giant throbbing cock was all in a day’s work, but this crazy fucker asking to put in a contract that he can insert his penis into his mouth was just weirdly personal.

“Y-yes.  I mean, of course.  Blow jobs are fine.”

“Semen?”

“Hmm?”

“Can semen go in your mouth?”

“Cas,” Dean said, leaning forward to rest an elbow on the table and partially cover his face with a hand.  “I appreciate you being thorough and we can continue that way, but do you have to be so clinical about it?”

When he didn’t get a response he moved his hand and opened his eyes.  Castiel was looking at him with a pinched expression.

“No nicknames.  I’ll put that in Section Six: Verbal.”

“Is there a Math section too?” Dean asked dryly.

“No.”

Dean narrowed his eyes, unsure if Castiel was making a joke by answering him seriously.  Castiel narrowed his eyes in response.  Clearly they had some communication problems.

“Okay, fine, let’s speed this up.  You can touch me anywhere on my body and you can put your semen anywhere in or on me except my ears and nostrils.”

Castiel typed away.  He looked up to ask, “Your anus and rectum?”

Dean covered his face with both hands.  “All yours, buddy.”

“Hm.  I’ll have to add no pet names too.”

Dean rolled his eyes behind the cover of his hands and sat up.  He gripped the edge of the table and wondered if any applicant ever made it through the negotiation phase at all.

“Feet and toes?”

“ _Cas_.  Tiel.”

“This is the last one I need explicit permission for.  Some people are weird about their feet.”

“You’re going to judge—never mind.  Feet and toes—whatever you like.  Except you can’t stick them up your nose.”

“Why would I stick them—ah.  I see.  A joke.”  Castiel let out a soft snort of amusement.

Dean leaned back in his chair completely giving up on trying to understand anything about Castiel.

“Last item for Section One.”

Dean was grateful they’d reached the final item, but how were they still only on the first section?

“Kissing.”

“Kissing?”

“Are you okay with kissing?”

“Are you?”

“I like to keep the option open.  If the mood strikes, may I kiss you?”

“Um.”  Dean looked at Castiel’s lips.  He noticed how plush and pink they were for the first time.  “Yeah.  Kissing is definitely okay.”

“Lips, neck, chest, nipples, ribs, abs, stomach, bellybutton, hips, penis, testicles, buttocks, anus, thighs, knees, ankles, feet, and toes.  Yes to all?”

Dean tried to follow the list mentally with him, but his brain screeched to a halt at the thought of Castiel kissing his anus—that meant rimming, right?

“Yeah,” Dean said a little breathily.  “All.  Hell, throw in licking with the kissing while you’re at it.”

“So noted,” Castiel said and typed something.  “Finally, reciprocation.  Are you willing to perform any or all of those acts on me should I ask you to?”

“Well, yes, but I’m not interested in switching.”

“Switching what?”

“The dominant and submissive roles.”

“Neither am I.”

“Oh.  Okay then.”

“Excellent.”  Castiel typed some more and then did a double hard return.

“Section Two: Bondage and Toys.”

Dean felt his face warming up again.

“Item A: restraints.  Handcuffs: padded and/or plain?”

“To be honest I don’t mind plain handcuffs, but it’s hard to explain the markings to my family.  I’d prefer padded.”

“I see.  Which means I will add soft, covered ropes, scarves, and ties only in the next subsection.  Are you okay with bondage to both your person and to objects?”

“What do you mean?”

“Can I tie you up using your own body to restrain you, and can I tie you to a chair or a headboard?”

“Um…yes to both.”

“Suspension?”

“Like tie me in ropes and hang me from the ceiling?  Um, I’d rather not, but if you—”

“No suspension.  Spreader bars?”

“Never used one before, but I guess I wouldn’t mind trying.”

“Gags?”

“I’m not a huge fan of spider gags.  Or ball gags for that matter.  A tie or something is okay.”

“Hm.”  Castiel typed and Dean frowned.

“Another ‘hm.’”

Castiel shrugged.  “I like gagging my subs, but I will not do anything you won’t enjoy.  And I suppose as long as I can still put a tie in your mouth that will be pleasant.”

“Nn-hn.”

“Blindfolds?”

“Sure.”

“Dildos?”

“Nothing too huge or too long.”

“Vibrators?”

“Same as the dildos.”

“Urethral sounds?”

“Um.  What are those?”

“They are metal rods that are inserted into the urethra.”

Dean blanched.  “Inserted into the pee hole?  Fucking _pass_.”

Castiel arched an eyebrow at him and he wasn’t sure if it was because he rejected something so emphatically or for the childish way he did it.

“Are you opposed to any sort of stimulation of the meatus?”

Dean felt like he was back in seventh grade sex ed class.  “What’s the meatus?”

“The opening to your penis.”

“The slit?”

Castiel nodded.

“N-n—um.  No.  That’s fine.  You can stimulate it, but don’t stick anything down it.”

“Okay.  Nipple clamps?”

“I’d prefer you use your hands and teeth.”

Castiel looked up suddenly, a subtle heat pulsing in his eyes.  Dean squirmed under the scrutiny.

“Take your shirt off,” Castiel ordered.

Dean’s hands were on the hem of his shirt before he even fully processed the command.  He carried through with it anyway and put his shirt in his lap.  He blushed lightly as Castiel studied his chest.

“You’re right.  Your nipples are perky enough without clamps.  Fingers and teeth only.”  He typed away at his laptop and said distractedly, “You can put your shirt back on.”

Dean complied, feeling a little foolish for so readily following the man’s demands.  In theory that was what he was here to do, but not while they were in “regular people” mode.  He hadn’t been anywhere near his submissive headspace, but it had come so naturally to obey Castiel.

“Food?”

“W-what?  I already ate.”

Castiel managed another small smile.  “Not right now, but please let me know if you get hungry.  What I was asking, is if food can be introduced to our activities?”

“S-sure.”

“Any food allergies?”

Dean shook his head.

“Do you have any desire for sex apparatuses?”

Dean opened his mouth, but wasn’t sure how to answer.  “What exactly—”

“Sex swings, sex dolls, fleshlights.”  He cleared his throat.  “Fucking machines,” he said softly.  Then louder, “I don’t own any of those things or use them, but if it’s something you really desire, I could consider—”

“No, no.  None of those things.”

“Okay then.  And once again, is reciprocation okay for Section Two?”

“S-sure.  Yes.”

Castiel took two more sips from his water bottle before placing it in the same place, label out.  His fingers flew over the keyboard and then he did a double hard return.

“Section Three: Accessories.”

Dean chuckled and sat back in his chair, letting his legs sprawl.  “Do I even want to know what this section entails?”

“I should think so.  You don’t want to consent to something blindly.”

“Yeah, no, I—”  Dean took in Castiel’s blank look.  The guy couldn’t really be that dumb; he must not be able to recognize dry humor and sarcasm.  Either that or he was fucking with him.  “Please go on.”

“On occasion, not often, I like to mix a little fantasy into my scenes.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, I might want you to wear certain things to complete my story.”

“What, like a French maid’s costume?” Dean asked with a laugh and no small amount of dread that he was about hear a “yes.”

“No, nothing like that.  Just accessories like jewelry or undergarments.”

“And by undergarments you mean…?”

“Jock straps, Speedos, panties, standard military issue underclothes.”

“Standard military issue underclothes?  Is that a thing?”

“To people who know what it looks like.  Do you have a problem with wearing items like that?”

“No, it’s fine.  I—wait a minute.  Did you say panties?”

“Yes.”

“As in…women’s underwear?”

“Yes.  And possibly thigh highs.”

“Um.  Um.  Um…”

“Is that a no on the panties?”

“Well.  I…”  Dean felt a little dizzy and he realized it must be because all the blood in his body was boiling in his head.  “I don’t mind them.  I just…I don’t like feminization.”

“Okay.  I’ll take feminization off the table, but that’s in Section Six.  This is about you wearing panties.”

“Yeah, but if I wear panties, won’t you then, like, I don’t know, tell me to be a good girl and spread my legs so you can lick my cunt?”

“I’m pretty certain I’ve never said that to anyone.  Not even a woman.  Also, if we sign the contract that says no feminization, if you’re wearing panties, I guess I’ll tell you to be a good boy and spread your legs so I can eat you out.”

Dean was dizzy again, but now it was because all his blood was in his dick.  Good lord and Castiel wasn’t even trying yet.

“Uh, right.  Yeah.  So.  Okay.  P-panties.”

“Excellent.”

Dean stiffened.  Castiel was into it.  Like totally into it.  He was definitely going to make Dean wear—

“They won’t be used, will they?”

“Of course not,” Castiel said, looking offended.  “I won’t buy you any accessories until I’ve gotten to know you somewhat and am familiar with your measurements.”

“Ah.”

Now Dean wondered if they’d ever get to panties; Castiel might fire him before the end of the first week for all he knew.

“How do you feel about ink?”

“Ink?  Like tattoos?”

“Oh, no, not permanent ink.  Markers.  Water based washable markers.”

“On me?  You want to draw on me?”

“I might.”

“Yeah…okay.  Just no real tattoos or henna or anything like that.”

“Henna,” Castiel mouthed slowly as he finished typing.  “Okay, now we’re to collars.  Collars are something I usually wait until I’ve been with a sub for a long time.  At least a year or more.  But, if I can’t leave marks on your neck, I want some other way to know you’re mine while you’re here.”

Dean felt something thick and slow coil around his body.  His pulse increased, his breathing quickened, and his flagging erection was back in force with no signs of it being able to go away anytime soon.

“Yes,” Dean said hoarsely, the word barely coming out.

“Pardon?” Castiel asked, looking up.  And then his eyes widened as they landed on Dean.

“Yes, I’ll wear your collar.”

A smile formed slowly over Castiel’s lips.

“While I’m here,” Dean amended, dropping his eyes and squeezing his thighs together.  His dick protested the abuse.

“Of course.  Only while you’re here.”

Dean kept his eyes down as his cheeks flamed hot.  This was a first.  Clients had put him in collars before and yanked him around by them and told him what a good bitch he was and how Dean was all theirs and only theirs.  Dean had never agreed though.

“That takes care of Section Three.  That’s a quick one.”  Dean heard the sounds of Castiel making a double hard return.  “Section Four: Kinks.”

Dean looked up.  “Kinks?”

“Yes, we’ve already covered bodily fluids, so…Castiel trailed off and typed for about a minute.  “Just to be clear the agreement for semen included come play.  You agree to swallowing, rubbing into skin, felching?”

Dean felt the first bit of discomfort borne of uncertainty.  He didn’t mind most things involving semen, it was just protein mostly.  But felching?  Rimming’s sluttier cousin?  He wasn’t entirely sure he was okay with it, but he didn’t want to say no either.  So, he just nodded and assumed Castiel would take his earlier “verbal acknowledgement” as agreeing to all the stipulations.

Castiel typed a few more lines and then looked up and asked, “Breath play?”

“No,” Dean said quickly.  “No, please no.”

“Okay, no breath play.  I will keep to my word.  If anything ever comes too close to it for your comfort, let me know immediately.”

Dean nodded.  He’d tried it once—and the guy hadn’t stopped.  He’d woken up in a hospital room to the sounds of his father drunkenly yelling at a nurse.  He’d been sixteen at the time and completely unprepared for the underground scene in Miami.  He’d been a little leery about having things around his neck ever since.  Sam had said he understood why Dean couldn’t wear the necklace he gave him as a Christmas present anymore (after a modified version of why he’d wound up in an ER with strangulation wounds), but Dean still felt like shit for it.

“Orgasm delay/denial?”

Dean’s memory jumped back to the night before when Gabriel had said that his penchant for that particular kink is what made him think Dean might be a true sub after all.  He’d never given it much thought before, but he did like when he wasn’t in control of his own release.

“Yes, I like—we can—um.  Yes.  To that one.”

“Verbal, cock rings…?”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you okay with cock rings to prevent orgasm?  Do you like trying to hold off on your own until you’re given permission?”

“Yes.  Um, the last one is good.  The cock ring is fine if you want to use it.”

Castiel’s smile was a little on the smug side as he typed and said, “Oh, I think I’m more excited for watching you try to fight it.”

Dean gripped the sides of his seat and forced his relaxing legs back together.  It was going to feel like such a letdown having to leave here today without getting off.

“Well, those are the major kinks.  For me anyway.  Any of your own?”

Dean shook his head.

“We’ll leave this amenable.  In case either of us discovers something we’d like to discuss and try.”

Dean nodded.

“Section Five: Punishment.”

“Punishment?”

“Gabriel told me a little about you.  Do you expect yourself to be a perfect sub all the time?”

Dean shook his head, but gave Castiel a little smile while biting gently on his bottom lip.  It was probably the most coquettish he’d ever been in his life.  Castiel gave him an amused smirk in reply, and then returned to his computer.

“This section I leave vague.  Anticipation and not knowing what’s coming are part of the punishment.”

Dean scooted forward in his chair so that he was leaning on the table and one corner of the seat was pressing between the v of his legs.  A miniscule movement of his hips allowed him to grind his balls against the edge of the chair.  The cushion dulled the effect a bit, but Castiel’s intense eyes were making up for it.

“There are only three things you need to know about the punishments.  One: nothing I dole out will ever result in injury or permanent marks.  Two: you may call off a punishment at any time for any reason.  Three: I will never punish you because you want it to distract you from your personal, real world problems.”

Dean sat back, forgetting his arousal.  Did submissives go to doms to get beaten into forgetting their problems?  He’d never been on the customer side of the equation before, but he supposed that’s why people hired a dominatrix like Meg.  Dean tried to think if he’d ever tried to deliberately piss off one of his clients so that he would punish him.  Then he remembered one night—that night—a few days after his father had gotten into a car accident that put a family of four in the hospital.  He’d been ornery and combative and his client had taken a whip off the wall and beat him with it until he couldn’t think about anything but the hot, throbbing pain of his back, butt, and thighs.  He’d actually developed a fever and hadn’t been able to sit or lie on his back for nearly two weeks without intense pain.  He’d had to take leave from Heavenly Host and lose out on three weeks pay until makeup was enough to cover the fading marks.  That was the first and only time Dean had seen Gabriel lose his cool; he’d lectured Dean for over an hour about not looking out for himself and not calling for help when he lost control of the scene.  Fortunately Gabriel hadn’t guessed that Dean had invited the dangerous punishment on himself.

Dean felt a little of his anxiety ease.  Gabriel’s recommendation notwithstanding, it was a daunting prospect to put himself in an uncontrolled environment with a stranger.  However, the fact that Castiel not only promised to never use a punishment to hurt him, but that he would never let Dean try to hurt himself was reassuring and…in a way, comforting.

Dean nodded.  “I understand.”

“Good.  Just one more section.”

Dean sighed in relief.

“And then we’ll talk schedules and payment.”

Dean slumped back in his chair.  Of course.  They weren’t near to done yet.  Dean “typed” in the air with his finger to the sound of Castiel making a hard double return.

“Section Six: Verbal.”

“Do I have to pass a vocabulary test or something?”

“No.  This has to do with how we talk to each other.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning, you don’t want me calling you my sweet girl or slutty little bitch, correct?  No feminization.”

“Uh, right.”

“Do you mind talking during a scene?”

“No, not as a rule.”

“Do you like dirty talk?”

Dean laughed and wondered if the tips of Castiel’s ears were actually red or if that was his imagination.

“Yeah, if it’s done right.”

“Positive or negative?”

“I don’t understand.”

“Positive would be, ‘You look so pretty choking on my cock.’”

Dean thought he repressed the squeak that induced in him, but Castiel’s slight head tilt told him otherwise.

“Negative would be, ‘You’re such a cockslut.  Never happy unless your whore mouth is filled with come.’”

“I—I see,” Dean said with a shaky chuckle.  “Positive is fine.  If the mood calls for it, negative is okay too.  But I guess I’m not a huge fan of it.”

“Hm.  I could tell.”

“Really?  How?” Dean asked skeptically.

“You prefer being praised, not humiliated or degraded.  You like the idea of being good for me.”

Dean looked down and twisted his hands in his jeans.  It was so silly and juvenile.  And he hated that Castiel had called him out on it.  But, he wasn’t wrong either.  Dean didn’t give him a confirmation though.

“Now, regarding personal conversation.  You’ll be here for eight hour stretches or longer, so there will be downtime.  During this time do you prefer there to be no conversation?  Small talk about weather and TV only?”

“I would feel weird if we didn’t talk _at all_.”

“Okay.  Are you okay with inquiries of a personal nature?”

“You mean about me, specifically?”

“Yes.”

Dean rubbed the back of his head.  “I don’t know.  Maybe not at first.  I just ask that you not take advantage of the situation and order answers from me as your sub.”

“I would never.  You should be aware before you agree to personal inquiries though, that I will not reciprocate that.  I will not answer nor will I tolerate you asking personal questions about me.  In the past, most people then don’t agree to personal inquiries if it’s not a tit for tat situation.”

Dean repressed a giggle.  _Tit_.

“I understand.  I can’t ask you anything personal.  And you can’t demand to know anything personal about me.  So, if you ask, I can always not answer.  That’s fair enough.”

“’Okay with personal questions if phrased in the form of a question.’  Got it.  Item D, nicknames and pet names.  None are allowed.  Not me to you or you to me.  No Cassie, no Deanie-weenie, no buddies, babes, dudes, or bros.  You are Dean, I am Castiel.  Unless a scene calls for me to be Mr. Novak.”

Dean grinned and then fought to hide it.  “You are one kinky son of a bitch, Mr. Novak.”

“We’ll see, Mr. Winchester.  Now, finally, Item E: your safe word.  In the event you are gagged, I will provide you with a buzzer you can hold in a hand.  If we’re not using the buzzer, you will say…?”

Castiel looked up, his fingers poised over the keyboard.

“Oh, um.  Impala.  I-M-P-A-L-A.”

Castiel scrunched his face.  “No.  I don’t like it.  Pick something else.”

“What?” Dean asked with incredulity.  “It’s _my_ safe word.  I can’t—won’t—change it.”

“I don’t like elaphine creatures.”

“It’s not an elephant; it’s a car.”

“Elaphine—deer-like.  Like an impala on the savannah.”

“Irregardless—”

“That’s not a word—”

“It’s not an animal at all.  It’s a car.”

“Still don’t like it.  Is there something about the car you can use instead?”

Dean didn’t wasn’t sure what to do.  He wasn’t _married_ to “impala.”  He’d never had to use it at Sweet Things.  The one time he should’ve he’d let the whipping continue because he'd wanted to be in pain.  He thought it was a little bit of an unreasonable request, but Castiel had been very careful about finding his boundaries on everything else.  He wasn’t an asshole—he was just weird.

“Sixty-seven,” Dean said.  “How about sixty-seven?”

Castiel considered.  “That’s the model year of this Impala, I imagine.”

Dean just crossed his arms and stared at him.

“Very well.  Sixty-seven.  At least it’s not sixty-nine.  I’d hate to have that taken off the table.”

Dean snorted to disguise a laugh.

“Now that that’s set, let’s discuss your schedule and compensation.  I assume Gabriel told you the hours I— _he_ —would like you to be here?”

Dean didn’t like the way he’d worded that, but he answered.  “Eight hours on weekdays, except Friday which is a twenty-four hour shift.  Then I work four hours Saturday night and have all of Sunday off.”

“Correct.  I will pay you $2500 for the week, which is four hundred and sixteen dollars and sixty-six cents per day.  I actually pay by the day, not the week or hour.  So, if you miss a day, I will dock one day’s pay from the week.  If you show up and work more than four hours, you get compensated for the whole day.  If you show up and work less than four hours, I don’t pay you at all.  If I notice a pattern of late arrivals to reduce your hours but keep the same pay, I will terminate the arrangement.”

“I understand.”

“You’ll be paid at the end of every Saturday night.  I can write you a check, or we can set up a direct deposit.”

“Um…”

“But we can work that out after the blood tests comes back.  If at any point either of us becomes dissatisfied with the arrangement, either of us can terminate the contract at any time for any reason without penalty.”

“Will I have to return the money?  I mean, any money I earned up until the contract is terminated.”

“Of course not.  You’ll be paid for services rendered.  You certainly can’t ask for your time and efforts back, so I won’t ask for my money.”

“Okay.”

“We won’t sign anything today.  There’s no sense in that until the blood tests come back.  I do appreciate your time today, but we went a bit longer than I anticipated and I have a grocery delivery scheduled for today and I can’t have you here when they come.”

“Oh.”  Dean suddenly felt a little awkward, like he was cockblocking a friend who had a hot date coming over.  “I’ll call Gabriel to come get me and wait outside.”

“Thank you.  Just one more quick thing,” Castiel said before Dean could stand up.

“When you get here, I plan on bathing you.”

Dean blinked rapidly, and then leaned forward.  “Pardon?”

“I never know if to include this under Section One: Touching or Section Two: Kinks, but it’s not really a kink and it doesn’t involve any more touching than what you agreed to in Section One, so I didn’t mention it specifically…”

“Castiel, it’s fine it’s not in the contract, but by bathe you mean…?”

“I…I don’t like the outside world.  I don’t like when it’s brought into my home.  So, I’ll have a bag by the door for your clothes as well.  You’ll put that and all your personal effects in the footlocker.  Except your phone of course as we agreed that can stay with you.  I’ll leave out wipes for you to clean the device.  Then I’ll take you to the bathroom and clean you to my satisfaction.”

“Um.  Yeah.  Okay.”

“I’m sorry.  I’m getting ahead of myself here.  We don’t even know if we’ll enter into this arrangement.”  He checked his watch.  “You have to go.  They’re scheduled to be here in half an hour, but sometimes they come early.  Ugh, I hate it.  Only thing worse is when they come late.”

“Mm-hn,” Dean hummed softly and followed the man back to the main room.  The sudden reminder that Castiel was really not that stable effectively killed whatever lingering arousal he’d been feeling.  After opening the front door, Castiel stood back while Dean got his shoes out of the footlocker.  He stepped out into the hallway to put them on and then turned back around to face Castiel.

“When would be a good time to schedule the tests?” Castiel asked.

“I work tonight, but not tomorrow night.”

“Okay.  I’ll check with Gabriel to find out what his schedule is like.  He’ll notify you when we can meet.”

“Um, is there anywhere I can park?  I don’t live near here and I don’t want to have to rely on the buses.”

“Oh, yes, in the garage.  I have a visitor’s pass I can give to you if we do this.”

“Alright then.  It was nice meeting you, Castiel.”

Dean took a chance and held out his hand again.  Castiel licked his lips nervously before hesitantly reaching out and taking his hand.  Surprisingly he had a strong grip that wasn’t timid at all.  They remained shaking hands past what Dean thought was a normal length of time.  Then he noticed that Castiel’s eyes were trained on his lips.  Dean held back a smirk and slowly wetted his lips, one at a time.  Castiel’s eyes widened slightly and his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“You wanna kiss me, boss?”

A small smile pulled at Castiel’s lips.  “No, not yet.  If we don’t make this arrangement, I feel that one kiss of those lips would haunt me for some time.”

“You always that poetical?”

“No.  Good afternoon, Dean.”

Castiel released his hand and then slammed his door shut.  Dean put his hands to his head and then moved them away while making a small explosion sound.  What on Earth was he getting himself into?


	3. Chapter 3

Dean got home with plenty of time to spare before he had to pick up Sam from debate club.  His father wasn’t around, which wasn’t surprising, but the fact that his room was clean and not smelling of vomit or urine was.  At least he didn’t have to worry about that.  He needed to fix the doorknob on the bathroom door, but he decided to sit down at the desk in his room and decompress a bit.  He opened his very old laptop and waited the seven minutes it took for the thing to boot up.  He opened a browser window and paused instead of typing in “ivy league tuitions.”  If he was going to be working for Castiel now, he might be able to afford an Ivy League school for Sam.  Maybe.  Instead of searching for that information though, he found himself typing in Castiel Novak’s name.  There couldn’t be that many in the world, could there?

He hesitated before hitting enter.  Was it really right to be snooping on the guy?  There was nothing wrong with doing background checks on people when entering business arrangements.  Hell, it was commonplace.  That’s all he was doing.  He was checking to make sure the guy wasn’t a registered sex offender or wanted for murder in Colorado or something.  He certainly wasn’t trying to find out anything that might explain the before/after delineation in his life.  Dean hit enter.

The first couple of hits were websites talking about angelic names and meanings.  Curious, he clicked on one and learned that Castiel was the Angel of Thursday.  Okay.  Moving on he found some random sites involving people with the surname Novak, including a James and a Gillian and a Claire, but he didn’t know if they were related to Castiel at all.  There was a company incorporated out of Nebraska that had the name Novak attached to it, but it was some kind of IT security firm and he wasn’t sure if that was related to the guy he knew.  Exhausting Castiel Novak, he added Gabriel Milton to the search.  That yielded some more interesting results.

There was an old article from a recently digitized newspaper that talked about the merger between a farming supply and equipment conglomerate with a low level transportation startup company.  It had taken place in the 70’s and the stepbrothers would have been much too young to be involved in it.  However, the reason the article was linked to those names was because there was a picture of the two presidents of the company breaking ground on a new office building.  There were some other people in the picture watching on, including a few children.  Castiel Novak and Gabriel Milton were listed as being two of the kids present along with Anna Milton, Michael Engel, Luc Engel, and Raphael Finnerman.  There were no other Novaks listed, not even as adults.  The picture was too grainy to determine if the dark haired boy was Castiel, but there was also the chance he was the baby being held in a woman’s arms who was looking at the sky and not the ceremony.

Dean clicked back to Google and was about to resume searching when his stomach growled.  He decided to feed the beast and then fix the doorknob.  He probably should go for a run after that.  People paid him for having a hot body after all, he couldn’t let it go just because he was going to be working for one guy now.  Well, potentially.  Castiel might still decide not to hire him, and then there would be no point in knowing who he was.  Dean shut down his laptop and shuffled into the kitchen, scratching his belly.

~~~

“I thought tonight was your night off,” Sam complained.  “I finished my homework early so we could hang out.  I mean, next week I just know all my teachers are going to start talking about finals.  Which is such crap because there’s still over two months left.”

Dean let his brother have his mini pout-rant as he monitored the rice and chicken cooking on the stove.  His father was home tonight, so he wanted to make sure he got a good meal in him and that it might do something to help absorb the alcohol.

“Dean, I never see you anymore.”

“Aren’t teenagers usually happy to not have to hang out with chaperone-like figures?”

“Yeah, but you’re not a parent.  Or a geek.”

“That’s debatable,” John said as he walked into the room.

Dean shot him a look with a raised eyebrow of amusement.  John smiled at him and sniffed the air.

“Smells good.  That for us?”

“No, it’s for the Brady Bunch,” Sam sniped.

“Sam, I do not—”

“Like you even know who the Brady Bunch is,” Dean said, interjecting himself before a fight could break out.  He put a glass of iced tea in front of Sam where he sat at the bar, and then handed a light beer with a low alcohol content to his father and indicated that he should take the stool next to Sam.

“I do,” Sam replied.  “But seriously.  Thursdays are your nights off.  Always.”

“I know, but remember when I told you I had interviewed for a new job?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m going for the final interview tonight.  If I get it, I’ll be able to switch to days and we can hang out every night.  Except Friday.  But you know how busy Friday nights are.”

“That’s great, Dean.”

“Why do I not believe you with that tone of voice?” Dean asked as he spooned rice and chicken cooked in sour cream and seasonings onto plates liberated from a diner in some city in Illinois.

“No, it really, really is.  But, I know waiters don’t make as much money on dayshifts as they do nightshifts.”

“It’s cool.  This place is really upscale.  The pay is better and the hours are better.  Best of both worlds.”

“Yeah, except, I’m still not allowed to go.”

“You’re fifteen, Sammy.  There are a lot of places you can’t go.”

“But you won’t even tell me what’s it’s called.”

“Because I don’t want you snooping and trying to sneak in or something.  You get me fired and we’re screwed.”

“I wouldn’t—!”

“I know, I know.”

“What kind of upscale place pays better with fewer hours?” John asked as he picked at his dinner.  “You going to start working at Over the Rainbow or something?”

Dean choked on his first bite and had to run get a glass of water to help clear his throat.  Over the Rainbow was a male strip club aimed at straight women.  He avoided his father’s calculating eyes as he returned to the kitchen side of the bar, sipping his water demurely.

“What’s Over the Rainbow?” Sam asked.

“Nothing,” Dean replied.

“Is it like an escort service?” Sam laughed.  “Are you a hooker?”

Dean felt his jaw drop and his eyes widen and couldn’t control it.  Fortunately Sam mistook his response for offense.

“I’m joking!  Geez.”

“I wasn’t,” John said.

“I’m not working at Over the Rainbow, Dad.  Jesus.”

“Good.  I would hope you would come to me for help before you had to resort to that.”

Dean pursed his lips to keep from snapping at his father that he could use the help regardless.

“That line of work can be dangerous.”

“What?  How?” Sam asked.  “What is Over the Rainbow?  Like, bootleg pirating of old timey movies or something?”

“No.  Just eat your dinner,” Dean sighed.

That line of work could be dangerous?  Not at Over the Rainbow.  Those dancers didn’t have to worry about like what had happened at Heavenly Host on Monday night.  A group of gay bashers had waited outside the backdoors and attacked a couple of the dancers as they had been leaving.  The commotion alerted everyone inside, and other dancers—well muscled dancers—and Gordon and Victor were able to come and help.  Cole and Christian had taken a few punches, but the assholes who had started the fight were definitely worse for wear after they’d been outnumbered.  They’d fled after it became apparent they didn’t stand a chance of winning the fight, but it had left everyone shaken up.  It was just another one of the dangers of working at an openly gay establishment in a bigoted, narrow-minded state.  Sweet Things never seemed to have that kind of problem though; Dean wondered how much Gabriel spent on security.

Thinking of Gabriel made him check his watch.  He cursed softly and shoveled the rest of his dinner down.  He dropped the dish off in the sink and ran around looking for his phone and wallet.

“Sam, will you do the dishes?”

He only got grumbling in return, but he assumed that meant Sam would do it.

“Hey, Dad, why don’t you stay in tonight?  Hang out with Sam?”

He caught a glimpse of Sam’s betrayed face as he passed his father and brother on the way to the door.

“There’s supposed to be the finale of that race show you guys like tonight, right?  I shouldn’t be gone long anyway.  Just an hour or two.  Be back soon,” Dean said as he headed out the door.

“Dean, wait.”

Dean turned back and his father followed him into the hallway, pulling the door mostly closed so that Sam couldn’t overhear them.

“Is everything alright?  You’re working something that’s…” he trailed off and looked at Dean with an odd, slightly guilty expression.

Dean gave him the driest look he could fathom.  “Are you asking me if I’m prostituting myself?”

“No, of course not.”

 _Good, because the answer is yes_ , Dean thought with mild amusement and a lot of discomfort.

“I just want to make sure you’re not in any trouble.  That you haven’t gotten involved in anything illegal or something.”

“No, nothing like that.”  At least…he didn’t think so.  “It’s just…a job, Dad.  A job I have to have because we need to pay rent and put food on the table.”

“I know, son.  And I’m sorry about that.  I’ll get a job again and help out.  You could go back to school maybe.  I’ll get my license back in a few months.  Then I can get a real job.  The only things within walking distance are fast food places.  I can’t work there.  You know that.”

Well, actually he could work there, he just didn’t want to.  Dean nodded.

“I get it.  But, Dad, even if you get your license back, it won’t do you any good if you lose it again.”

“I’m not going to lose it again,” John said, getting defensive.  “It was a onetime thing.”

“A onetime thing?!  Dad, you were arrested for three DUIs before they suspended your license.  You have to stop drinking and driving.  You should stop drinking period.”

“God, Dean, please don’t start that bullshit again.  I’m not an alcoholic.  I can handle my liquor.  And I don’t need you telling me what to do like some kind of Goddamn kid.”

“Fine.  But you know what I do need to do?  I need to go interview for a job, so that I can take care of this family.”

Dean turned on his heel and walked down the hallway to the stairs.

“Dean!”

Dean ignored his father and took the steps down to the lobby level two at a time.  He was sick of having this argument with his father.  John had always been a heavy drinker, since Mary was killed anyway, but he’d really only started having a problem within the last few years.  And Dean was alone in dealing with it.  John had no friends in Huntsville.  He had no former coworkers that were still on speaking terms with him.

If Dean staged an intervention it would just be him and he knew how that talk would go.  He’d had it twenty times already and it always ended with John stomping angrily out of the house, violently throwing shit around the apartment, or worst of all, dark, barely controlled rage as he grabbed Dean by the front of his shirt and told him to mind his own fucking business.  It was actually easier to let him drink.  It was easier to work and take care of the household himself.  So long as Sam had a relatively stable home life and would be able to escape when he graduated high school, Dean thought it was worth it.

He shook the thoughts of his family off as best as he could.  He was going to Castiel’s tonight to meet with him and his brother to find out the results of the blood tests.  If they were both clean, Dean would sign the contracts and begin work on Monday.  He felt a little nervous as he drove across town, but he’d been so busy in the two week interim that he hadn’t had time to worry about what would happen if something came back positive.  He couldn’t even really muster any concern now.  Worst case scenario was that he continued to work at Heavenly Host.  He did wonder if Gabriel would fire him from Sweet Things.  He wasn’t worried about the major diseases and the incurable ones, but Castiel had requested a lot of tests.  Unless he was mistaken, he was pretty sure malaria had been on the list.

He found himself getting worked up as he got closer to Castiel’s apartment.  It wasn’t fair that he might miss out on a great paying job because he had a low titer for some random disease that probably didn’t even exist anymore.  Dean didn’t realize how anxious he was about not getting this job—and how much he wanted the steady hours and higher pay—until he thought he might not get it.  He was still grumbling when he pushed the intercom for Castiel’s apartment.  After a moment the door buzzed and Dean stomped inside to wait by the elevators; Gabriel had to come down to get him.

When the elevator doors opened to reveal the short scoundrel, Dean griped, “It’s stupid that he tested for malaria anyway.  So what if I have it?  He can’t get it unless there are mosquitoes around.  His apartment is immaculate.  No mosquitoes.”

Gabriel grinned.  “He’s in your head.”

“He’s on my last nerve.”

“That doesn’t bode well; you haven’t even worked one day with him.  Come on, get on.”

Dean stepped onto the lift and crossed his arms while Gabriel used a keycard to get the car moving up.

“Since when do you know so much about malaria anyway?” Gabriel asked.

“I helped Sam with a school project last year.”

Gabriel turned a startled look on him.  “Do you have a son?”

“No.  Dude, no.  A brother.”

“Oh.  Right.  You’ve never mentioned a brother.”

“I’ve never mentioned anyone.”

“Touché.  Well, if it makes you feel any better, you’re negative on everything, so relax.”

Dean’s shoulders did relax and he looked at Gabriel.

“I thought he was waiting until we were both there so there would be no questions of authenticity or whatever.”

“To him there will be two unopened envelopes, but I wasn’t going to drag you out here if he was just going to reject you.”

“Oh.  Thanks, I guess.”

The elevator stopped and the doors opened.

“Does he know that you subvert him on stuff like this?”

“I don’t know, maybe.  But what you need to understand about Cas is that he lives in an illusion.  And so long as he can maintain that illusion and ignore the truth, he’s fine.”

“Hm.  Hey, how come you get to call him Cas?”

Gabriel smirked and knocked on Cas’ door.  “He made you sign the no nicknames or pet names clause?”

“Yes!  What’s up with that?”

“He doesn’t like being called Cassie.”

“He could have just said that.”

“Well, he also doesn’t like pet names.  He doesn’t like things to be too intimate.”

“Hmph.  He agreed to the kissing clause.  That’s intimate.”

Gabriel laughed.  “With lips as pretty as yours?  Can’t say I’m surprised.”

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled, flushing slightly.

The door opened and two plastic bags were thrust out at them.  Dean raised an eyebrow at the arm.  He looked at Gabriel.

“He’s having a bit of a rough day,” Gabriel whispered softly.

“I heard that,” a voice rumbled from behind the door.  “And I am not.”

“A bird hit a window,” Gabriel said in a normal voice as he took off his shoes and tucked them into the bag.  “And he had to wait for hours before I could come over, pull back the curtain, and check to make sure it hadn’t damaged the window.”

“My business doesn’t need to be his,” Castiel groused as he stayed behind the door, but pulled it open enough for them to enter.

“Sure it does.  It’ll be his job soon.”

“Perhaps.  Let’s see these tests first.  Someone this beautiful must have partners hanging off him all the time.”

Dean shut the footlocker with their shoes inside it and rolled his eyes.

“Master of the backhanded compliment, your brother,” Dean said to Gabriel.

He just snorted and pulled the door out of Castiel’s hands so that he could shut it.  Castiel shifted uncomfortably and crossed his arms awkwardly over his chest.  Gabriel pulled out two letter sized envelopes from his back pocket and waved them in the air.  “Ready for some results, boys?”

“Just do it here.  He may need to leave soon.”

Dean shot Castiel a look.  “Well, if you think I’m that disgustingly promiscuous, why are we doing this at all?”

Castiel averted his eyes and wrapped his arms tighter around himself.

“He’s still worried about the bird,” Gabriel stage-whispered.  “Don’t mind him.”

“It could have affected the seal,” Castiel said tetchily.

“I told you it didn’t!”

“But I didn’t see it.”

“Because you wouldn’t look!”

Castiel pulled his arms even tighter, if that was possible, and scowled.  However, he looked more nervous, or maybe scared, than upset.

“You have to trust me, Cas.  That’s your only option.”

“I do.  But you might not know what to look for.”

“Cas!  I think I can recognize a broken window.”

“It’s not just the glass.  It’s the seal around the window.  You can’t see that without really inspecting it and you didn’t even look.”

“Cas, you would have deballed me if I had opened that window.”

Castiel shook his head, but didn’t have a response.

“Do you want to call a contractor?  You remember what happened the last time somebody came in here to do work.”

Castiel began to sway back and forth and shook his head more.

“I can check it out,” Dean heard himself saying.

The stepbrothers turned their attention onto him.  He wilted a little under their intensity.  Hopefully it was just carry over from their argument not really directed at him.

“Do you know anything about windows?” Gabriel asked.

“I know a little bit about construction.  I worked construction for a couple of years before I got hired at Heavenly Host.  And…and when I was younger,” Dean cleared his throat, “my dad taught me a little bit about cars.  Which use a lot of seals and gaskets to make stuff work.  Why don’t you tell me which window it is, and I can check it out while Gabriel reads you the results of our blood work?”

Castiel bit his lip, and he bit it hard if the white spreading across it was any indication.  Then he gave a curt nod.

“It’s the one on the left in the back wall of the Punishment Room.  Do you remember which room that is?”

Dean wrinkled his nose at that thought of the Pepto-Bismol colored room.  “Yes, I remember.”

“Please, don’t go anywhere else or touching anything you don’t have to.”

“Yes, sir,” Dean deliberately added the deference.  Just a little tension eased from Castiel’s body.

Dean left the room and turned left in the long, dark corridor.  This was a bad idea; the guy was nuts.  Maybe he wasn’t violent, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t dangerous.  How was he supposed to sub for someone he didn’t feel safe around?  This Castiel was completely different from the one he had interviewed with two weeks ago.  How was he supposed to sub for someone he felt sorry for?  Dean realized he pitied Castiel, and he didn’t think he could make a convincing scene with someone he felt awkward and uncomfortable around.  Maybe he wasn’t a sub in the true sense of the term, but he did need somebody who was strong and dominant and in control.  Castiel was none of those things.

Dean flipped on the switch in the Punishment Room and ignored the walls with its too pink color and cute kittens and walked over to the window in question.  He was a little curious about what might be in the dresser now that he knew the purpose of the room.  Surely Castiel didn’t punish his subs merely by making them sit in the obnoxious room?  Although, that would be a punishment.

The blackout curtain pulled back stiffly, and Dean could tell it hadn’t been moved in some time.  Only a small section felt pliable and that must have been where Gabriel had pulled it back.  He looked at the glass and saw a small smudge on the outside where he assumed the bird had hit.  The pane looked perfectly intact.  He then looked at the seals around the windows and thought they looked solid too.  Just to be thorough, he decided to open the window and check.  He had to push and strain and shake his fingers out more than once in the attempt to get the lock to open.  He was about to push up on the window when he noticed the wire running along the bottom edge.  He immediately pulled his hands back.  He had little doubt an alarm system would start blaring if he opened the window.  All he could do was close the lock and give the window sill a few solid pushes.  Everything held firm.  He put his hands around the edges, feeling for a draft.  He felt none.  And that was about all he could do.

Dean put the curtain back where he had found it and turned out the lights.  His eyes focused on the light spilling into the hallway from the main room because it was too dark to see anything else.  Castiel and Gabriel were still standing by the door.  Castiel’s arms were still crossed over his chest, but his expression was more annoyed than upset.

“What’d you find out, Dean-o?” Gabriel asked.

“It lo—”  Dean stopped himself from using words like “looks like” or “appears.”  “It’s solid.  No cracks, no gaps.  I can’t feel any drafts and everything is still tightly in place.”

“There, you see that, Cassie?  No worries.  I’ve brought you the best sub ever.  Pretty, spunky, and handy around the house.”

“Spunky?” Dean asked.

“And speaking of things being spunky and tightly in place—the two of you are free to put your spunk in whatever tight places you’d like.”

Dean and Castiel both made disgusted faces and frowned at Gabriel.  He just laughed and waved the papers in his hands.

“No HIV, no herpes, no syphilis, Chlamydia, or gonorrhea.  No HPV, no crabs, no warts.  No marijuana, no narcotics, no downers, no uppers.  No bakers or shakers or candlestick makers.”

“Though apparently I have the Bubonic plague,” Castiel grumbled with a powerful frown.

Gabriel slapped a hand on his shoulder.  “Lighten up.  It was a joke.”

“It still exists, you know.  The Plague.”

“Yeah, yeah, mice in Arizona, I got it.  Anyway.  I’ve done my part.  You two can sign the contract, and take it from there.  Have fun boys.  Play hard, but play nice.”

“I’m always nice,” Castiel muttered, almost like it was unconscious response.

“You have my number if you need me, Dean.”

That wasn’t exactly an encouraging sentiment, but Dean appreciated it all the same.  He met Gabriel’s eyes as he pulled the door open and the look the man gave him was one of both gratefulness and despair.  Gabriel didn’t think it was going to last.  He thought he was looking upon his last ditch effort to help his brother, and he thought he had already failed.  Dean looked down at the floor.  He was afraid Gabriel was right.  He didn’t think he’d be able to do this.  Not long term anyway.

“You’re sure about the window?”

Dean looked up, surprised by the small, timid sound of Castiel’s voice.  He nodded.  The man finally unfolded his arms and un-hunched his shoulders.  He started to walk toward the kitchen.

“Follow me.”

Dean followed Castiel back into the dining room.  There were three sets of documents laid out on the table and three pens lined up above them.  Castiel sat down at the head of the table closest to the documents and indicated for Dean to sit in the seat directly to his left.  Dean sat down and recognized the contract they had worked out during their interview two weeks ago.  Dean couldn’t stop the smirk that tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“What?” Castiel asked warily.

“Nothing.  It’s just interesting.”

“What is?  Don’t be vague, I dislike that.”

“Well, you clearly had these printed up before I got here.”

“So?  I like to be prepared and organized.”

“True, but you didn’t know the results of the tests, yet, right?  Seems like this would be a waste of time and paper if it turned out I was no good.”

“I’ve got nothing but time.”

“Hmm.”

“What?” Castiel grumbled and picked up one of the pens.

“I just think you're eager.”

Castiel looked up at him.

“I think you want me.”

“Understatement,” Castiel said, not looking the slightest bit embarrassed about being called out on his desires.  “Whether or not I could have you was another matter.”

Dean held out his hand for the pen.  “Let me sign and you can.”

Castiel held his gaze and Dean wasn’t quite sure why he was flirting so hard.  Maybe he wanted to see the Castiel he’d met two weeks ago.  The one who had been perfectly at ease to order a stranger around.  He had liked that guy.  Still thought he was weird as fuck, but he had been better than scared of birds and windows guy.

Castiel handed him the pen and then rather than let him flip to the back and sign, made him go over the contract point by point, initialing as he went.  Castiel initialed everything as well, and finally they signed and dated the bottom.  They did the same for the second document which would be his copy, and then again for the third which would be Gabriel’s.  Castiel said that they went over every point so that Dean could see they were identical copies and nothing had been snuck into the contract he was signing.

“I can have them notarized if you like.  I have a friend who does that and could come over next week, probably.”

“You have a friend?”  Dean felt his face heat up with embarrassment.  That had been rude.  Castiel didn’t appear to be offended, but he focused on the table and the pen in his hands.

“Yes.  I have a few friends.  We mostly only speak online though.  Some I’ve never even met in person.  I don’t suppose you would consider those friends.”

Dean shrugged.  “Friends aren’t defined by proximity.”

“True enough.”  Castiel paper clipped together the contracts and handed one to Dean.  “Your copy to take with you.”

“Thanks.”

“There’s just one more thing and then you can go.”

Castiel stood up and carried the other two copies of the contract out of the room.  Dean sat back in his chair and tried to sort through his thoughts.  This was really happening and he needed to get on board with it quickly or it was going to be a very unpleasant experience.  He ran his hands over his face and back through his hair.  He could do this.  Just focus on the money.  He didn’t need to worry about surprises or comprising himself.  He’d made the contract and nothing weird—sexually anyway—was going to happen.  He had that assurance at least.

Of course, what assurances did he have that Castiel wouldn’t break the contract?  There was no one here that could help him if things went too far or the man ignored his safe word.  He’d agreed to being tied up—he was going to make himself utterly helpless and at this man’s mercy.  Dean had never met any of these other subs even though some of them worked for Gabriel.  What if Gabriel and Castiel were serial killers?  What if Gabriel found the victims and Castiel did sick, twisted things to them?  What the hell had he been thinking?  He didn’t know these people.  He’d known Gabriel less than a year and he was—

“Dean?”

Dean started violently at the light touch on his shoulder and pushed his chair away from the man standing beside him.  It squeaked and scraped on the wood floor.  Castiel’s eyes widened and his mouth froze in a tight “O” of horror as he looked at the floor.  Dean looked down, but he didn’t see any damage.

“S-sorry,” he stuttered.

Castiel shook his head.  “It’s fine.  It didn’t mark anything.  It’s fine.”

Dean didn’t think it was actually fine.

“I’m sorry I startled you.  I said your name twice before I touched you.”

“Yeah, sorry, I was just.  You know.  Deep in thought.”

“I see.  You can’t do that when we scene.  You have to be present.  You have to know if you need to stop.”

Dean nodded, feeling a little foolish that he’d imagined Castiel as a crazed murderer when he was concerned about Dean taking minor damage in a scene.  Castiel raised a hand, but paused halfway to Dean’s shoulder.  He lowered it and sat down instead.  Then he placed a green wooden picture frame and a black marker on the table that he’d been holding in his other hand.  Dean watched as Castiel removed the back of the 4x6 inch frame and removed a blank index card from inside.  He handed the card and the marker to Dean.

“Please write down your safe word, and then sign your name under it.”

Dean quirked an eyebrow but didn’t raise any questions.  He was still feeling guilty for thinking the guy wanted to wear his face like a mask.  Castiel gave off a weird vibe and did make Dean a little nervous, but it wasn’t anything like that.  He didn’t fear for his life.  And the guy wasn’t _that_ creepy.

“Just, anywhere?” Dean asked, moving the marker above the card.

Castiel nodded.  “However you like.”

Dean wrote “sixty-seven” down in the handwriting he used for forms—all capital letters, but in a flowing script—in the center of the card.  Then he scribbled out his signature in the bottom right hand corner.  Castiel took the card and put it back in the frame.  He looked up.

“I picked green because I remembered your eyes.  I like them.”

“Um.  Thank you.”

“This way.”

Dean followed Castiel into the main room and they walked up to the odd shelving unit on the white fur rug.  Castiel set Dean’s frame down on the empty third shelf, the one that was a little below eye level.  Dean was able to look at all the other frames now and realized like a swift kick to the head that the nearly two dozen frames represented Castiel’s former subs.  The shelves below Dean’s were heavily populated and on the bottom shelf the frames were actually laying face down.  There were only two frames on the shelf above Dean’s and the top shelf had a single gold and silver frame where a delicate hand had written the word “Omaha.”  He couldn’t read the signature, but the first letter was an “I.”  He vaguely recalled Gabriel saying the name of Castiel’s first sub was something odd that began with an “I.”

Dean’s eyes swept over the other frames quickly, reading words like “cantaloupe,” “magenta,” “heartbeat,” and “lucky.”  Some had names signed as small as could be in the corners, others were downright John Hancock-ian.  He didn’t see any other green frames on the shelves, although there was a blue one and two pink ones.  One of the pink ones was face down and the other had the word “jellybean” written on it.  He was almost certain the first name was Haley, or maybe Hannah.

“You dom for women?” Dean asked.

Castiel glanced at him.  “Yes.  Men and women bring different things to the table.”

“Hmm.”

“Is it a problem if I’m bisexual?”

“No, no.  I’m bisexual.  Well, kind of.  I mean, I…”

“You…?”

“I prefer men.”

“I thought so.”

“Why?” Dean asked, looking at Castiel with narrowed eyes.

“You won’t like my reasoning.”

Dean shrugged.  “Still asking.”

“Daddy issues.”

Dean clenched his jaw so hard his teeth squeaked.  He looked back at the frames.

“I’m not doing this in the hope of finding my father’s love.”

“No, I didn’t think so.  I think you’re looking for a man who will actually take control rather than forcing you to be the responsible one all the time.”

Dean’s eyes shifted back toward the man, but he wouldn’t look at him.  That didn’t sound entirely inaccurate.

“I can be that man, Dean.”

Dean turned his head to look at him now.  His eyes were dark, but bright with excitement.  Dean felt himself shiver at the look of raw lust Castiel was sweeping over his body.  He lowered his head slightly, but then Castiel’s fingers just barely touched him under the chin, pushing his head up.

“Would you like that, Dean?  For me to take control of you?”

Dean swallowed and managed a small nod.  Castiel smiled.

“Good.  I have a feeling you’re going to end up on a high shelf.”  He turned and abruptly walked to the front door.  “You should leave now.”

Dean walked over to the footlocker, a little irked, and dug out his shoes.  As he stepped through the threshold he looked back over his shoulder at Castiel, and saw the shelving unit behind him.

“Wait, you rank your subs?”

Castiel nodded.

“Isn’t that a little… callous?”

“Doesn’t it make you want to be a good boy for me?”

Dean blushed and tried to cover it by putting on his shoes.  “If I am will I get a gold star and have my report card posted on the refrigerator?” he asked snarkily.

“Would you like me to make report cards?”

Dean looked up, face still hot.  “No,” he mumbled.

“Hmm.  That’s actually not a bad idea.”

“It’s a terrible idea!”

Castiel smiled and held out a plastic cardkey.  “Thank you for checking the window for me, Dean.  I’ll see you Monday.  Don’t be late.”

As soon as Dean had the card in hand, Castiel shut the door in his face.  Dean rubbed his temples with his fingers.  What had he gotten himself into?  This was going to be so fucking weird.  He turned to walk toward the elevator and blushed even hotter as the movement allowed him to feel the drag of his jeans against his half hard cock.

~~~

As the elevator rose to the penthouse, Dean felt more dread in his stomach than he had on Saturday when he gone to Crowley’s office after his shift.  Quitting short notice was a bad idea.  If he burned his bridges with Crowley, the club owner might not take him back if Castiel fired him after a week.  Of course Crowley had merely shrugged and told him that if he had to move on to greener pastures then he should.  His delivery hadn’t quite made his good will seem genuine, however.  He had asked where Dean was going to work instead and he’d stumbled over an answer as he hadn’t prepared one for someone who knew he did more than wait tables for a living.  Crowley had smiled slyly, like he knew exactly what Dean was getting paid for now.  He’d then told him that if he ever needed to come back to Heavenly Host, he could definitely use his new services.

Dean had gone hot with embarrassment and anger as Crowley had chuckled.  He knew the man was already planning how much he could make for him if Dean started actually whoring himself out.  It put doubt in his mind about what he was doing, but it had been too late at that point.  At least he had convinced himself it was because the money was too good.

Dean would have made it out of the meeting mostly unscathed until Crowley reminded him that there was a ten person private party scheduled by Zachariah in a month.  A down payment had been made and it had been made for Dean.  He didn’t come outright and say it, but Dean got the impression that Crowley would sue him if he lost his money on Zachariah’s cancellation.  Dean didn’t know if the lawsuit was a realistic possibility, but he couldn’t take a chance of it becoming public or him being served around John or Sam.  He couldn’t explain to them why Heavenly Host might sue him.  He agreed to do one last party for Crowley.  Fortunately it was scheduled for late on a Saturday.  He’d probably be able to finish his hours with Castiel and make it to the club with time to spare.

Even with Crowley’s smarm, the threat of a lawsuit, and the promise of entertaining Zachariah one last time, the visit to Crowley’s still hadn’t made him feel this weird and squirmy.  He stood on the elevator so long after the doors opened, they closed again and started back down.  He had to stop on a random floor so that he could get the elevator moving back up.  The walk down the hall to Castiel’s door was endless and yet also approached too fast.  He felt like he was in a Hitchcock movie.  When he arrived at Castiel’s door, he checked his watch.  He had some time to spare.  Some time to collect himself so that he wouldn’t be a jittery mess when Castiel opened the door (apparently Dean wouldn’t earn a key to the place for several weeks yet).  Some time to shut off the chatter and thoughts and swirling feelings in his head.  Now was the time to let someone else dictate what he should be doing and thinking right now.

Dean exhaled and felt the tension leave his shoulders.  Yesterday he’d had to pay the water and electric bills, sign a permission slip for Sam, and go shopping for groceries and supplies for Sam to do some sort of math project.  He’d been called down to the Roadhouse at 3:00am to pick up his father.  He’d had to spend an hour getting him undressed, washed up, and put in bed on top of a plastic sheet in case he urinated on himself in his blackout.  He needed today.  He needed to let everything go and be responsible for nothing but satisfying Castiel’s needs for the next eight hours.  He needed Castiel to keep his promise and take control.

Dean raised his hand and knocked on the door.  It swung open with his hand still poised in the air.  Castiel was wearing a white dress shirt and grey dress pants and…orange socks?  He met Castiel’s eyes and the man was kind of twitching and licking his lips.  Dean raised an eyebrow and gave him a smug smile.

“What’d I say?  Eager.”

Castiel dropped his eyes and fought a smile.  He handed Dean a plastic bag for his shoes.

“I admit I’ve been thinking about this all weekend.  What to do first?”

Dean kept his attention focused on putting his shoes in the bag, and then the footlocker.  He was very pleased that Castiel had been thinking about him, which was stupid, he knew, but he still liked it.  Castiel shut the door and then handed Dean a bigger plastic bag made out of thicker plastic.  Dean looked at it questioningly.

“For your clothes.”

“Oh.  Right.”

Dean groaned inwardly as he remembered that he had to strip the “outside world” off and then let Castiel bathe him.  Oh good lord he had blocked the bathing from his mind.  He pulled his wallet, keys, and phone out of his pocket and placed them on the table next to the door.  Castiel pointed out the box of alcohol infused wipes he could use on his phone.  He wiped it down thoroughly and then handed it to Castiel when he volunteered to hold it for him—while he undressed for his bath.  Jesus.  Dean turned around and began to tug on the buckle of his belt.

“You turned away from me.”

Dean looked over his shoulder.  Castiel was standing perfectly still, his head raised and an eyebrow arched.

“Never turn away from me.”

Dean swallowed and turned around.  He fumbled with the belt for a moment because his eyes were locked with Castiel’s, and then he had the fly undone and the jeans sliding down his legs.  He stepped out of them and folded them neatly before placing them in the bag.  He took his socks off next because he felt a little too _Risky Business_ in nothing but a shirt, underwear, and socks.  Next went the green top shirt and then the black T-shirt.  Castiel hadn’t moved an inch and Dean now stood in nothing but his grey boxer-briefs.

“I forgot to ask,” Castiel said lowly, his eyes traveling around Dean’s chest and then down his body to his groin.  “Whether or not you’re circumcised.”

“Are you asking now?  Or should I be silent?”

“If I want you silent, I’ll tell you.”

“Okay.”

“Take your underwear off.”

Dean hooked his thumbs in the waistband of his underwear and slid them off all the way to his ankles so he could step out of them.  He started when he stood back up and found that Castiel had taken two steps closer and into his personal space.  The man’s eyes were still focused on his groin, and then he raised a hand and ran gentle fingers down Dean’s flaccid penis.  A shiver tripped down his spine and he could feel the tingle signaling the potential for his body to flare to arousal.

“Are you happy or disappointed it’s cut?”

“Neither.  At the moment.  Let’s see what it can do first.”

Dean laughed nervously and somewhat breathlessly.

“Put your clothes up and follow me.”

Dean hurried to obey as Castiel was already walking out of the room toward the back hallway.  He walked across the room, feeling really exposed in the large place.  The rooms at Sweet Things were smallish and made him feel like he was hiding away.  Here…he was naked and flapping about everywhere.

In the hallway Castiel had turned right, taking them down where he had never been before.  There were only two doors on this side of the hallway.  Castiel opened the first door and Dean squinted against the bright light that flooded out.  He stepped into the doorway and gawked.

The room was literally covered in large, white tiles from floor to ceiling.  The walls, the benches, the vanities were all white tile; an expensive, beautiful white tile at that.  The only places that were weren’t tile was the large mirror over the double vanity, a very large— _extremely large_ —tub that was about the size of a small pool, and some hardware that came out of the walls such as spigots and faucets.  There was a teak wood dresser against the wall next to the tub—pool—and two short, teak wood stools sitting next to a wall that had a showerhead coming out of it.  The floor under the stools slanted just slightly down to a drain at the foot of the wall.

The sound of water rushing into deep water drew his attention to the tub and he saw that two separate faucets were feeding the monstrous bath and steam wafted up from it and filled the room with a light, citrusy scent clinging to the muggy cloud.

Castiel was across the room, digging in the dresser, when he addressed Dean.  “Please come inside and shut the door.  Go to the showerhead by the wall and turn the temperature on to whatever pleases you.”

Dean moved to obey, but stepped tentatively into the room, expecting the tile to be cold despite the steam permeating the space and quickly escaping through the door.  As soon as he put his foot down he realized it must be a heated floor.  He shut the door behind him and walked over to the wall with the showerheads.  He adjusted the water to be a little warmer than he usually used; with all the steam in the air the water was probably going to feel colder when he got under it.

Castiel walked up to him and handed him a simple bar of unscented soap.  “Use this, and be sure to rinse off well.  Then come to the bath.”

“You want me to shower before I get in the bath?”

“Yes.  I don’t want all that outside filth in my bathtub.”

“Right.  Of course.”

Dean turned to hide the expression on his face and began to lather himself up with the soap.  It might have been his imagination, but he thought he felt the lightest of touches caress his left butt cheek.  It was gone too fast for him to be certain.  Once he felt he had sufficiently cleaned himself, he put the soap on a dish mounted on the wall and turned off the shower.  He turned and saw Castiel sitting on the edge of the tiled wall that enclosed the bath.  He crossed the room and presented himself for inspection.

His thoughts about being well behaved and not overly nosy or curious went out the window when he saw that the tub was actually two baths.  One was a fairly normal sized tub, though it was still bigger than the one he shared with Sam, and was sectioned off in its own little tile casing at the far end of the bigger tub by the dresser.  The larger tub wasn’t so much a tub as the kind of thing one might fight had a spa resort or hot springs.  Inside the tile it looked like it was made out of some medium colored wood.  It was big enough to hold five or six people comfortably and probably took a couple of hours to fill.

Dean turned his eyes to Castiel and waited for instructions.  The man indicated the smaller tub (of course he did), and Dean slipped into the almost too hot water gingerly.  It was so full some of it spilled over onto the tiled floor, but Dean suspected that’s why the bathroom was designed the way it was.  Castiel turned off both faucets—he saw now that one was for the big tub and one for the little—and then moved to sit on a medium height stool behind him.  He felt a little nervous not being able to see him, but Castiel shushed him even though he wasn’t speaking or protesting, and he felt himself relax against the back of the tub.

He heard cloth whispering behind him and he wondered if Castiel was disrobing.  A quick glance in the mirror told him that the man had only rolled up the sleeves of his shirt.  He looked through the assortment of bottles he had pulled out of the dresser, and then picked one up.  He popped the top and held it near Dean’s face so he could give the contents a sniff.  It smelled like ginger.

The relaxed state Dean had found himself slipping into all but disappeared when he felt Castiel’s hand on his head, pushing him down.  It wasn’t a forceful push, but he resisted for a moment anyway.

“Get your hair wet,” Castiel ordered.

Dean slipped down in the water and popped back up, wiping the water from his eyes and hearing more water slosh onto the floor.  Castiel didn’t reprimand him though; he just began working the ginger smelling liquid into his hair.  Within moments Dean was boneless against the back of the tub, tumbling headlong in relaxation from the hot water and the scalp massage Castiel gave him as he washed his hair.

“Dean,” his name seemed to come out of a misty vale.

“Hmm?”

He felt a thumb brush along his cheek.

“Rinse your hair off.”

Dean pouted, but complied, sliding under the water and using his hands to rinse out the soap.  When he surfaced he was hit with a light spray of water and spluttered.  He heard a soft chuckle behind him and decided it wasn’t worth getting annoyed over and leaned back against the tub as Castiel used an attachment to completely rinse his hair clean.  Then Castiel started working something sweet smelling into his hair.  He was going to wind up smelling like gingerbread.

After another soothing scalp massage that had him half-asleep and his cock at half-mast, Castiel picked up a wash cloth and squirted a clear green liquid onto it.  He dipped it into the tub to get it wet and then worked up a lather that started to smell of fresh herbs.  Castiel held out his hand.

“Give me your arm.”

Dean raised his arm out of the water and Castiel held him gently by the wrist.  He washed Dean’s arm from hand to shoulder, and then worked his way to Dean’s back, getting him to lean forward so he could work.  The wash cloth washed him all the way to his other hand before Castiel squirted more soap onto it.  Then he scrubbed his neck, behind his ears, his jaw line, up onto his cheeks, and then his forehead and nose.  That part wasn’t so pleasant; the scent of the soap almost made him sneeze.

Then Castiel’s hand started to move down, washing his chest.  The man lingered as he washed his pectorals in firm, circular motions and Dean knew it was no mistake that the heel of Castiel’s hand rubbed his nipples over and over, back and forth.  The water in the tub betrayed him with tiny sounds as he couldn’t quite stop the minute twitches of his body every time Castiel ground his hand down hard onto nipples made sensitive by the cloth.

At last, Castiel moved on, washing his stomach and abs.  Dean could feel that his breathing had quickened with anticipation.  He didn’t have a raging hard on, but he was fully erect and could feel his member pulsing with want.  Castiel reached down between his legs, but then leaned forward to pull the plug out of the tub.  The water began to drain and Castiel raised one of his legs out of the water and began washing his foot.

It was torture: feeling the air hit newly exposed skin bit by bit as the water drained, and Castiel washing and massaging up one leg and down the other but never at the apex.  By the time his cock was exposed to the air it was rock hard and laying against his belly.  He bent his knees when Castiel finally finished with the second foot and couldn’t help the instinctual spread of his legs.  He opened his eyes, a little surprised to find he’d closed them, and saw Castiel leaning on the edge of the tub, holding the wash cloth in loose fingers.

“Push your hips up,” Castiel commanded.

Dean did as ordered, almost all of the water drained now, and Castiel washed his backside before telling him to sit back down.  Only then did he add more soap to the cloth and begin to clean Dean’s groin.  It was so perfunctory it was almost a turn off, but he’d been craving the contact for nearly ten minutes and the rough treatment of his balls and shaft had his nails scrabbling at the smooth sides of the tub.  Then the asshole wrapped the cloth over his cockhead and twisted—like he was cleaning—but all it did was rub texture and pressure over the sensitive glans and Dean sucked in a sharp breath as his hips bucked up into nothing.

Dean sat back in the tub, groaning softly in frustration as Castiel turned the attachment back on and rinsed off his whole body.  Then he pushed lightly on Dean’s shoulder, getting him to slide down a bit more.

“One place left,” Castiel hummed nonchalantly.

Dean opened his eyes and noticed for the first time the small, bulbous head of the attachment.  Castiel slicked it up with something and then put it between his legs.

“What—”

Castiel put a hand on his chest and pushed him back.  “Just relax.”

Dean did as he was told the best he could and winced not from pain, but odd discomfort as the attachment breached his hole.

“Oh, God,” Dean breathed when the water turned on.

There was a burst of hot, pulsing water inside him and he arched his back as the feeling caused simultaneous pleasure and trepidation as he felt his cavity filling up.  Then Castiel pulled the device out and the water spilled out of him.  He only had a moment to recover before Castiel repeated it a second time.  The third time Castiel pushed it in a little farther and hit a switch that caused the water to begin to pulse into him in rapid bursts.

“Shiiiitttt…tssssssssss.”  Dean felt it but didn’t register pain when his knees shot apart and banged the sides of the tub.  “Oh, holy…”  Dean trailed off again.  This was new.  This was so new.  It was fucking incredible and he kicked one foot out to brace against the end of the tub and his hands again tried futilely to find something to hold onto.

Castiel moved the device back and forth and Dean surprised himself by groaning unabashedly loud.  Then the device and the feeling were gone.  Dean gritted his teeth over a whine of aggravation and could feel his whole body trembling on the edge of something.  Castiel reached out with a hand and gave his cockhead a flick with his finger.

Dean threw his head back and cried out as he came.  It was so intense he squirmed to try to get away from the pleasure, thrashing in the tub and letting out small moans and grunts as he emptied himself on his clean stomach and chest.  It took a minute or two to gather his senses and realize he was sprawled in the empty tub in a near delirious state.  He felt something behind his head and opened his eyes.  Castiel was leaning over him, one hand cradling his head.  He had stopped Dean from thwacking his head on the hard tub and Dean couldn’t manage enough breath to thank him for it.  It wasn’t until he felt Castiel’s free hand swiping through the sticky come on his torso that he realized he’d just let himself get off with no thought to what Castiel wanted.

“Oh, shit,” Dean said sitting up.  “I’m sorry.  I wasn’t prepared—”

“It’s okay, Dean,” Castiel said, turning on the attachment and rinsing off Dean’s body again.  “I never gave you any instructions.  In fact, we technically haven’t even started yet.”

“W-what?”

“I never know if I need to bring this up during the contract negotiations or not.  Our d/s relationship doesn’t begin until we both give the word.”

Dean flushed and sat up, hugging his knees tightly to his chest.  “It should be in there,” Dean said.

“It should?”

“Yes, because I don’t agree to that.  I walk in the door and I’m yours.  I can’t bring… _me_ …into this world.”

“I see.”

Dean dropped his eyes and looked at his toes as Castiel contemplated that.  Had Castiel really been okay with the idea that they were getting freaky outside the terms of their arrangement?

“The contract is to set rules and boundaries, right?” Dean asked.

“Yes.”

“Then the rules only apply when we’re engaged in our arrangement.  So, what was this?  I don’t know you well enough for this, Cas.  Tiel.”

“Apologies, Dean.  It was not my intention to make you uncomfortable.  I hadn’t realized you had already slipped into your submissive headspace.  I have an idea.  Come with me.”

Dean licked his lips and didn’t move.  “Have we started, are you giving the word?”

“Yes.  Stand up and get out.”

It was easier to uncurl now and step out of the tub.  Castiel tossed him a tiny, dry wash cloth.

“Dry yourself.”

Dean kept his eyes down and was grateful for the steamy air and warm floor because the wash cloth wasn’t gathering up too much of the water.  After a minute, Castiel stepped forward with a slightly bigger towel and vigorously dried his hair.  Then he collected all the cloths they’d used and put them in a basket under the vanity.  He pulled open a drawer and deposited an unopened toothbrush, a tube of toothpaste, and a small bottle of mouth wash on the vanity.

“Brush your teeth thoroughly and use the mouth wash.  I’ll be right back.”

Then Castiel walked out of the room, leaving Dean naked and alone in the opulent bathroom.  Dean leaned on the vanity and squeezed his hands against the edge as he closed his eyes.  He took a moment to inhale deeply and then exhale slowly.  It was okay.  It was just a misunderstanding.  The fact that Castiel hadn’t understood that there was a difference between who _he_ was and who his sub _persona_ was wasn’t a big deal.  It didn’t mean anything.

To distract himself from letting his thoughts spiral deeper down the rabbit hole, and wonder if the submissive side of him wasn’t just a thing he liked to play with but might actually have something to do with who he was at his core (and shit, there he was _thinking_ about it), he tore open the toothbrush and put on a generous amount of minty flavored toothpaste.  He brushed longer than he would at home and started to wonder to where Castiel had disappeared.  He spat, rinsed, and then gargled some of the mouth wash.  Just as he was rinsing out the sink and flicking his tongue around to dispel the slight burning sensation, Castiel walked back into the bathroom holding a wide, flat wooden box.

“Sorry it took me so long,” Castiel said.  “I’m in the middle of reorganizing the playroom and these were buried under the plugs.”

Dean’s lips parted, but he didn’t speak because according to Castiel they had officially started and he didn’t know if he was allowed to talk.  Castiel spotted his look.

“You needn’t worry about the playroom being disorganized.  It’s much too soon for us to visit there.”

Dean shuddered with excitement and felt a spike of arousal at the thought of what might be in the playroom.  As disturbing as it was to admit even to himself, he had fantasies about being chained to walls.

Castiel stood in front of Dean, holding the box against his stomach with one hand as he opened the lid with the other.  Inside the box was lined with white velvet, and arrayed in vertical lines were seven very different collars.

“Now, if this works out for the long term, I’ll buy you your own.  But for now, you can use one of these.”

Dean crossed his arms and pulled back a little.  “These belonged to your old subs?” he asked, feeling offended he was being asked to wear someone else’s collar.  Which was ridiculous because at Sweet Things most of the equipment was shared by everybody (after a thorough sterilization, of course).  Dean had worn the same collar with different clients, and various collars he’d worn had also been used by other employees.  It wasn’t a big deal.  But here, now…this felt different.  It felt wrong.

“No, they didn’t.  They’re for use in the playroom, but you can pick one out to keep up front in the footlocker.  That way when you come in you can put it on immediately and I can know where your head is.  If you don’t put it on, I know you have business to discuss first.  If you’re not comfortable bathing outside of the arrangement, I would recommend the black one or the red one.  They’re vinyl and will be water proof, though perhaps a bit itchy when they get sweaty.”

Dean nodded and looked between the two collars.  The black one was thin and simple and probably the best option, but the red one was a deep crimson and a little wider than two of his fingers.  It also had a real buckle as opposed to the black one that had a snap that would give way if too much pressure was put on it.  Probably a wiser choice for someone who was nervous about getting choked out, but he knew which one he wanted.

“The red one,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Castiel hummed and set the box on the vanity.  He removed the red one and closed the lid.  Dean licked his lips, anxious to get the collar on—the symbol that it was okay to want to be bossed around and controlled by another person.  But Castiel walked away from him and opened a drawer in the dresser.  He returned with a white, folded towel and dropped it on the floor between them.  It drew attention to Castiel’s orange socks.

“Get on your knees,” Castiel said.  His voice was so soft, so calm—and Dean was rocked with a needy frisson at the power and command in it.  He dropped to his knees on the towel, grateful he didn’t have to kneel on the tile.  He tilted his head back, expecting Castiel to buckle the collar into place, but he was undoing his fly.  Dean’s mouth watered and he hadn’t even seen the man’s cock yet.  Beneath the grey dress slacks, Castiel wore white cotton underwear.  He lowered his pants down onto his hips, and then pushed the waistband of the underwear beneath his balls.  He was decent, nothing extravagant in length, but he was thick.  He was cut, unshaved, and the flesh was a deep ruddy color that stood out against the paleness of his thighs.  He needed more sunlight.  Dean wasn’t sure if he was insulted or not that the man wasn’t erect.  He wasn’t completely flaccid, but Dean had his work cut out for him.

“Get me hard,” Castiel ordered.

Dean raised his hands.

“Use only your mouth.”

Dean put his hands behind his back and clasped one wrist firmly.  He leaned forward and licked the head into his mouth.  He licked and kissed the head, rolling just the tip around in his mouth.  Castiel began to harden almost immediately.  Dean repressed his grin at his success and continued to work the head and slit until Castiel had filled out enough that it was easy to start sliding his length into his mouth.

“How far can you go?” Castiel asked.

Dean flicked his eyes up for a moment, taking in Castiel’s stoic expression.  Dean could fix that.  He bobbed his head farther and farther down the shaft, humming around the hardness and enjoying the way it made him open his mouth so wide.  He kept taking Castiel deeper and deeper with each forward movement of his head, and then he felt Castiel’s cockhead reach the back of his tongue.  He paused to take a breath and get his virtually nonexistent gag reflex under control, and then he lowered his head one more time.  He swallowed in order to get the tip going partially down his throat and his nose brushed Castiel’s abdomen.

“Don’t move,” Castiel commanded.

Dean went still and closed his eyes.  His whole world narrowed down to the heat between his lips, permeating his whole mouth and down his throat.  His mind was blank, capable only of concentrating on holding Castiel inside himself, breathing through his nose, and fighting the urge to swallow again.  His mouth filled with saliva and some dribbled out around the sides of his mouth and rolled down his chin.

“Swallow.”

Dean swallowed, clearing his mouth and earning a soft hiss from the man above him.

“Hold still now.”

Dean had no intention of going anywhere.  Then he felt it—Castiel’s hands at his neck.  His eyelids fluttered open, but all he could see was the smooth skin directly in front of him.  Castiel’s hands were nimble as they fixed the collar around his throat and buckled it into place.  Dean’s hand gripped his wrist even tighter in his desperation not to grab onto Castiel.  He knew he had been feeling arousal already, but now he could feel that his cock was heavy with blood between his legs.  It had been less than fifteen minutes.  Dean knew he was young, but he’d never gotten hard again after an orgasm in such a short span of time.  He felt Castiel slip a couple of fingers under the collar to test the tightness, and then he brushed the fingers of both hands through Dean’s hair.

“Good, Dean.  So good.”

Dean closed his eyes and fought back a whimper.  Castiel’s hands continued to stroke his hair for what felt like hours, but must have only been seconds.  Dean’s jaw was starting to ache a bit, but he liked that the sensation kept him in the moment and wouldn’t let him fade out.

One of Castiel’s hands dipped down and his thumb brushed the corner of Dean’s mouth where his cocked disappeared inside him.

“Really good, Dean.  Best I’ve had in a very long time.”

Dean exhaled and couldn’t fight the reflex to swallow again.  He looked up, but Castiel didn’t look upset.

“It’s okay.  You can pull back now.”

Reluctantly, Dean obeyed and tightened his lips around the shaft as he pulled back.  He kept the tip in his mouth and flicked his tongue around the head as he coyly looked up at Castiel.  The man was looking down passively at him—totally calm, totally in control.  Irked, Dean closed his lips around the head and gave it a strong suck followed by tonguing his slit.  Castiel’s hand landed in his hair and pulled hard—not enough to pull him off, but hard enough that the spark of pain jolted straight down to his cock.  He moaned softly and met Castiel’s eyes again.

“Willful.  I’ll break you of that.  Let go.”

Dean released Castiel and sat back on his heels, more to display his erection than because his legs and knees were tired.  Castiel cocked an eyebrow at him.

“Am I supposed to care about that?” Castiel asked dryly as he turned toward the sink.

Dean watched with confusion as Castiel began to stroke himself.  Then he watched disappointedly as he realized Castiel was going to get himself off.  His eyes widened, horrified, as the man didn’t turn back to him to make him swallow his come or even cover his face with it.  He let out one harsh breath as he came in the sink, and then turned on the water to rinse it away.  Dean fought the urge to squirm and wasn’t sure he succeeded.  Castiel tucked himself back in and buttoned his fly.  Then he turned to face Dean.  He smiled and cupped a hand under his chin, tilting his head up.

“What’s with that face?  You wanted that?”

Dean nodded.

“No, no.  You have to earn that.”

He brushed the backs of his fingers down Dean’s jaw line and then onto his neck.  He slipped a finger under the collar and gave it a gentle tug.

“You were right.  This is much better.  You can stand up.”

Dean carefully got to his feet as he kept his hands behind his back.  Also, his erection made moving a little awkward.  Castiel stepped into his space and ran his hands over Dean’s shoulders and down his arms.  He moved them onto his stomach and then smoothed them up skin softened by his bath until he reached his nipples.  He rolled them both between thumbs and index fingers.  Dean’s lips parted on a pleased sigh, but he held eye contact.  Castiel pinched them harder and Dean let out a small grunt of shocked pleasure.  Castiel turned his hands and used only his thumbs to mercilessly roll and stimulate the hardened nubs.  Dean bit his lip and closed his eyes.  Castiel didn’t let up; if anything he did it harder, a little faster.  Dean’s body jerked, but he did his best to keep still.  He tried to hold back the sounds bubbling up in the back of his throat, but they still escaped as soft, frenetic humming.

All at once Castiel stopped and Dean gasped like he’d been holding his breath.  Maybe he had been.  His nipples smarted, and with one gentle flick of Castiel’s finger against one of them he let out a moan and dropped his head back, his thighs quivering and his cock practically vibrating.  Then Castiel gently cupped a hand around his muscled breast, not touching his nipple, but squeezing his fingers near it.

“We need to adjust the contract,” Castiel said softly.

Dean’s eyes snapped open and some of his pleasure dissipated.  He looked to Castiel wanting to know what he had done wrong.

“Relax, Dean.  Nothing’s wrong.  We just need to make a minor addition to Section Four, Kinks.”

Dean’s eyes jumped around Castiel’s face until the man met his eyes and held him still.

“You didn’t tell me you’re a masochist.”

Dean relaxed and licked his lips.  Castiel leaned forward and licked Dean’s lips, just catching the end of Dean’s disappearing tongue.  Dean leaned forward to kiss him, make their tongues slide together, but Castiel had already pulled back.  He focused on the hand holding Dean’s chest again and lightly grazed his nipple with his thumb.  The pain had a faded a bit, but the nerves still zinged sharply at the contact.  The next thing Dean knew the hand had pulled away and there was a crack in the air followed by a mild sting on his right cheek.  It hadn’t hurt, not really, and it took a moment to process that Castiel had slapped him.  Left-handed and open-palmed so there had been little force behind it.  He met Castiel’s calm eyes.

“Don’t hide any more kinks from me.  Anything else I should know about?”

Dean swallowed.  He opened his mouth, but then closed it.

“You can speak.  What is it?”

“You said you would tie me up or to a bed.”

“Yes.”

“I—I also like being chained, or um, tied to a wall.”

A small smile formed over Castiel’s lips.  “Do you now.  I think you’ll enjoy the playroom then.”

Dean swallowed a whimper and Castiel ran his thumb over Dean’s lips.

“Shh, it’s much too soon to be thinking about that.  Go stand by the large tub.  It’s called an onsen, by the way.  It’s Japanese.  I had the wood flown in from Hokkaido.”

Dean moved but couldn’t help the raised eyebrow he sent in Castiel’s direction.

“It was before…well, before,” Castiel explained.  “Now, of course, I would never accept foreign wood into my home.”

Dean snorted.

“Don’t laugh at punny innuendo,” Castiel said, but there was a smile in his voice.

Dean schooled his expression and stood by the tub, _onsen_.  He could hear Castiel moving behind him, and then nothing.  Had he left the room?  He didn’t dare turn to check.  After a few minutes, he heard bare feet on the tiles behind him, and then felt hands ghosting over his hips.

“I don’t know where you’ll rank overall,” Castiel murmured, his lips moving against the collar on his neck.  “But you are the most beautiful one I’ve ever had.”

Dean’s shoulders hunched just slightly at the compliment, but then Castiel’s lips were on his right shoulder and his hands were holding his upper arms.

“No, Dean, don’t do that.  You please me.  Does that make you happy?”

Dean raised his head.  Amazingly, pleasing this weirdo stranger did make him feel a little happy.

Castiel moved his hands to his shoulders blades and kissed the collar.

“Take yourself in hand.”

Dean obeyed.

Castiel pressed a kiss between his shoulder blades.

“Get yourself off.  But slowly, slowly…take your time.”

Dean used a loose grip to slowly jack his cock in one hand.  Castiel moved from behind him and Dean’s eyes widened and his hand stilled when he saw that the man was naked.  He only saw him from the backside as he stepped into the onsen, but he was lean with powerful muscles rippling in his back and thighs.  The man settled down into the water in a corner, and then leaned an arm on the edge of the tiled enclosure.  He rested his chin on his forearm and watched Dean.

Dean was used to being watched.  He stripped, he gave private dances, he played with himself and used toys while others watched and picked the best angle to spank him from.  He’d gotten aroused sometimes, but not just because someone was watching him.  He didn’t have a voyeurism kink.  At least, he hadn’t.  But now, watching Castiel watch him, Dean felt the man’s gaze like a physical caress on his skin.

Dean took his lower lip between his teeth and ran a finger up the underside of his cock while his other hand teased his balls.  He turned his head slightly to the side and let out the tiniest of moans as he bit his lip and closed his eyes.  He brush his thumb over the slit, gathering up the precome and raised it to his lips.  He kissed the salty fluid away.  Then he—

“Stop.”

Dean looked up, his hands freezing in place.

“Don’t put on a show.  I’m not a client.”

Dean raised an eyebrow in silent question.  Last he checked Castiel was paying him to be here to do kinky shit for him.

“I’m not a client, I’m your dom.  You’re not an employee, you’re my sub.  I’ve ordered you to get yourself off, not to fulfill what you think are my fantasies.  Will you obey me?”

Dean inhaled deeply, the heavy, steamy air actually soothing him rather than making him feel claustrophobic.  He closed his eyes, and focused inwardly.  What did he like?  Long, slow, hard strokes up and down the entire length several times, followed by rough, quick circular jerks at the base, like he was buried inside someone and grinding.  Then he’d return to the long strokes again.  Occasionally he’d do the rough circular motion just under the head, but then pull back before the sensation became too much.  Up and down, base and tip, allowing the pleasure to build and build, always pulling back before it became too much, but allowing it to get a little closer to the edge every time.

Dean knew he was about thirty seconds away from coming when he heard soft splashes of water.  He tried to open his eyes but could only get them halfway there.  His breathing was rapid and shallow.  He was so close.  Castiel was stepping out of the tub, eyes locked onto him.

Dean closed his eyes again, becoming consumed by the orgasm that was threatening to overtake him.  He could sense that Castiel was beside him, close, but not touching.  The man didn’t speak, didn’t touch him, and Dean whined in the back of his throat, knowing the orgasm was going to be good but wanting Castiel to just give him a little push.  He yanked indelicately on the head of his penis, his other hand brutally kneading his balls, and his teeth clenched tightly in frustration as he longed for just a little fucking help…

Then what felt like Castiel resting his chin on his shoulder interrupted his momentum and rhythm, but the shock of disruption tipped him over.  He let out small, gasping “unh’s” with each new burst of semen.  Castiel’s hand was on his wrist, forcing him to angle his dick down.  Come splattered on the white tile and Dean squeezed his eyes shut against the need to get away from the prolonged orgasm.  At last, his dick gave a final twitch and he relaxed with a sigh, letting his head tip back.

Castiel’s hand trailed up his torso and his fingers pinched a nipple, hard.  Dean cried out and felt his groin throb with another wave of pleasure.  Then Castiel leaned forward and placed a kiss on his collar.

“That was really good, Dean.  I enjoyed that.”

Dean licked his lips and swallowed.  He nodded and was glad that he wasn’t expected to respond verbally because he wasn’t sure that he could.

“Follow me.”

Castiel stepped away and Dean’s side went cold with the loss.  He turned and followed Castiel out of the bathroom, shivering in the ambient air of the condominium.  He was led to the only other door on this side of the hallway.  Inside was what had to be Castiel’s bedroom.  There was a king sized bed with a rather ugly yellow and brown duvet in a geometric print.  On both sides of the bed was a maple colored nightstand with a lamp, a notebook, and a pen set up to exactly mirror each other.  There were a couple of closed folding doors against the far wall, and another regular door in the corner of the wall that backed up to the bathroom.  And that was it.

Castiel crossed the room to the folding doors, so Dean followed, enjoying the plush, though somewhat worn, cream colored carpet on his toes.  If the carpet was ten years old, it was still in really good shape.  Dean glanced inside the door in the corner and saw that there was a small vanity, a toilet, and a decently sized standing only shower, but it was kind of small compared to the ostentatiousness of the other rooms in the condo.  Dean was certain that the condo hadn’t been built with these odd sized and designed rooms.  Castiel must have gutted the place and had major construction done on it before he moved in.  Of course, that would have been before…whatever the unspoken was.

Dean’s attention was drawn to the folding doors as Castiel pulled them back, revealing a very large walk-in closet.  Hangers with clothes lined both walls, and at the back were shelves for his shoes and drawers for what Dean presumed must be his unmentionables.  Castiel walked over to the drawers on the far left and opened the second drawer down.  He pulled out a pair of grey men’s yoga pants and then offered them to Dean.

“Please put these on.”

Dean stepped into the soft, thin material.  They were a little snug on his ass, but hung loose down his lower thighs and calves.  Castiel stepped close and put his hands on his waist, rubbing the line where skin met cloth.

“I unfortunately have some work to do today.  I would prefer you to stay in my office with me most of the time.  But, if you grow restless or hungry or have to use the bathroom, you can get up and leave without asking for permission.  In fact, I would prefer it because I don’t want to be disturbed.  Do you understand?”

Dean nodded.

“If you need to relieve yourself, use the bathroom in my bedroom.  If you’re hungry you can make whatever you like from the food you find in the kitchen.  You can cook and use the appliances if you want.  You may not order food from an outside restaurant.  Do you understand?”

Dean nodded.

Without warning, Castiel leaned forward and kissed him.  Dean let out a small humming noise and parted his lips.  Castiel’s hands traveled up his back and he gave Dean several small kisses instead of deepening the contact.  Dean did his best to encourage the man to just kiss him properly already, but Castiel pulled back and put three fingers lightly on Dean’s lips.

“Day one,” he said a little breathlessly.  “It’s only day one.”

Dean kissed his fingers.  Castiel moved his hand, but not away.  He slid his fingers through Dean’s hair and massaged Dean’s neck with the other hand.

“I am very physically and sexually attracted to you.”

Dean nodded, pleased to hear it and letting him know it was mutual.

“But we don’t know each other.  Not really.  Not yet.  And we’ve got time.”

Dean didn’t argue, of course, but he leaned into Castiel’s touches and maintained eye contact.  Castiel tightened his grip in his hair.

“Stop that.”

Dean lowered his eyes.  He sucked in a surprised breath when Castiel kissed him again.  He stumbled backwards as Castiel maneuvered him out of the closet and to the bed.  They lay down on it in a controlled fall, Castiel half on top of Dean.  What happened next could only be described as a make out session.  They kissed and let their hands roam (above the waist) a little, but kept their groins apart and simply enjoyed the sensation of kissing rather than trying to get it to build to something more.

Dean wasn’t sure how long they kissed for, but his lips were feeling used and numb when Castiel finally mumbled, “I really do have work to do.  And you need some water or juice.  You’ve come twice; you need to stay hydrated.”

Dean nodded and kissed Castiel again.  The man allowed it a few more moments, and then pulled back and stood up.  He pulled Dean by the hand until he was on his feet and led him into the kitchen.  Castiel gave a quick, but thorough tour of the kitchen, showing him where all the dishes and utensils and gadgets were kept.  Then he poured him a glass of orange juice and a glass of water.

“Drink them at your leisure, but finish them both.  When you’re done, wash and dry the glasses and put them back in the cabinets.  Then go to the hallway and turn left.  You will find me in the room behind the second door.  I’ll have a place for you to sit.  I want you to sit there unless you need to get up.  Do you understand?”

Dean nodded.

“Good.”

Castiel promptly left the kitchen and Dean waited until he cleared the hallway entrance before leaning heavily on the counter.  This was new.  This was all very new and he wasn’t sure if he was okay with it.  Well, actually, he was okay with it.  More than okay.  He supposed what he really wasn’t okay about was the fact that he was okay with it—that he had fallen into this bizarre relationship so easily.  So eagerly.  He straightened and felt the collar shift against his neck.  It soothed his mind.  He drank the orange juice first, and then chased it with the water.  He carefully washed and dried the dishes and put them back in the proper cabinets.  Then he went in search of Castiel and his office.

He walked down the hallway and couldn’t help but pass slowly by the first door.  Process of elimination meant that the playroom was behind that door.  The contract they had drawn up gave Dean a pretty good idea of what might be behind that door, but there was still that element of the unknown that made him shiver with anticipation.  In the same way that Castiel desired omniscience and control, Dean craved being free from responsibility and decision making.  He knew they were two halves of the same coin, but he just couldn’t understand Castiel’s side of the equation.  Of course, Castiel probably felt the same about him.  However, as long as they could give each other what they needed (and Castiel paid Dean), then he saw no reason why this arrangement couldn’t go on for some time.

When Dean got to the second door, it was partially ajar and he wasn’t sure if he should knock or go right in.  He supposed he had been ordered to simply come in when he was done in the kitchen, so he pushed the door open farther and stepped into the room.  He wasn’t sure what he was expecting after the mish-mashed luxury of the other rooms, but a medium sized room full of IKEA furniture and gym equipment wasn’t it.

Castiel’s office was mostly beige.  Beige carpets and walls that were probably the originals.  There were several black filing cabinets against one wall, and the grey metal of a treadmill and a Bowflex in one corner, but that was the only real “color” in the room.  The corner desk with a long offshoot was birch, the office chair was upholstered with a hideous tan burlap-looking kind of fabric, and a standalone birch table stood against one wall covered in manila folders and envelopes—all of which looked meticulously organized.  The only odd thing in the room was a very large white, fluffy pillow on the floor near Castiel’s desk.  Dean scowled at it.  Is that what Castiel had meant by the comment that he had somewhere for him to sit?  On that giant ass pillow like some sort of spoiled house cat?

Dean repressed an annoyed grumble and walked over to the pillow.  He watched Castiel as he typed and clicked his mouse and looked at documents and Excel spreadsheets on the two monitors in front of him.  He showed no outward signs that he knew that Dean was in the room.  Dean looked down at the pillow and then back at Castiel.  He looked down at the pillow again, nudged it with his toe, and then looked back at Castiel.  He jumped when he found the man watching him.

“Uh…” he trailed off and glanced down at the pillow and back again.  Castiel nodded slowly, his face neutral but his eyes full of mirth.  Dick.  Dean called on every ounce of willpower he had to show no outwards signs of his displeasure and stepped onto the pillow.  He knelt down and then sat back on his heels, resting his hands on his thighs.  Castiel returned to his work.

It was nearly ten minutes before Dean realized that Castiel was actually working and had nothing he wanted Dean to do.  He slipped off his heels to give them a rest and settle back on his butt.  The beige room held no interest for him, so all he could do was sit and think and look at Castiel and look away and wonder if there were any spring training games on TV he could be watching instead.  As boring as baseball was, it was better than this.  Castiel had told him he could get up and move if he got hungry or had to use the bathroom, but for some reason he felt determined to stay put until ordered to move.

Thirty minutes later that plan died when his stomach growled very loudly in the quiet room.  Castiel glanced at him with a small smile.

“Would you care to make us some sandwiches?”

Dean nodded.

“I prefer whole wheat bread, mayonnaise on the top side, mustard on the bottom.  Two pieces of ham, one of turkey, and a slice of Swiss cheese.  Lettuce, tomato, put salt and pepper on the tomatoes, and if you would eat cucumber on your sandwich, you can slice some up and put it on mine.  Did you get all that?”

“Yes.”  Dean winced when he heard the tone of his voice.  But fuck, he was here to be the guy’s sub, not his servant.

“You can prepare your own sandwich however you like.  Eat it in the kitchen, and then bring me mine with a bottle of water.  I want you to also bring five pieces of chocolate from the pantry.  The pure milk chocolate ones.  Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Off you go then.”

Dean got to his feet and made faces behind Castiel’s back as he left the room.  Then he remembered the security cameras and stopped.  His preparation of the sandwiches was done with much quiet grousing and slapping around of lunch meats.  He made his own sandwich huge and chowed down on it noisily and messily while he fixed Castiel’s sandwich.  He wasn’t sure if he just wasn’t cut out to be a sub, or if Castiel was abusing the dom role.

His hunger having been satisfied, Dean’s irritation at having to make Castiel’s lunch abated somewhat, and he carried the three requested items carefully to the office.  Castiel didn’t appear to have moved and was still staring intently at his screens.  Dean placed the sandwich, water, and candy on the desk close enough for Castiel to reach, but far enough away that it wasn’t in his way.

“Thank you, Dean.  Please bring the pillow closer and sit beside me.  Take the pants off first.”

Dean slipped the yoga pants off and folded them, placing them on the floor by the end of the desk.  Then he moved the pillow and knelt on it right next to Castiel; the man wouldn’t be able to turn in his chair without bumping into him.  He sat back on his heels and the fur of the pillow tickled his butt crack.  Castiel ignored him while he ate his sandwich, and Dean tried not to think about why he was so annoyed by being ignored.  When he was finished eating, Castiel unwrapped one of the candies and then held it down toward Dean.  Dean leaned forward to take it, but Castiel pulled it back slightly.

“Don’t bite it.  Just lick and suck.”

Dean nodded.  He took the candy between his lips, but Castiel wouldn’t let go of it.  Dean realized he had no plans to let go of it at all, so he began to lick and suck on Castiel’s fingers as well as the candy.  It was good chocolate too.  He hadn’t recognized the brand, but it was clearly a gourmet chocolate that was creamy and melty and not overly sweet.  Dean worked Castiel’s fingers in his mouth until the candy was gone, and then sat back licking his lips.  He looked up and found Castiel watching him: pupils dilated, lips wet and parted.  Dean felt his groin stir.  Castiel unwrapped another candy.

For ten minutes, Dean sucked and licked chocolate from Castiel’s hand.  It clearly aroused Castiel (if the expression on his face wasn't enough, the tent is his pants was clear as day), which infected Dean and left him with a prominent erection quivering and waving in the air above his lap.

When the last of the chocolate was gone, Castiel patted his lap.  “Come here.”

Dean struggled a little as he got up since his legs had started to fall asleep from being sat on for so long, but he made it gracelessly into Castiel’s lap.  The man unzipped his pants and pulled his cock out of his underwear.

“Move forward.”

Dean pressed himself close enough for Castiel to get a hand on both of their erections.  He jacked them nice and slow as Dean wrapped his arms loosely around Castiel’s neck.  This was a change from when he was usually in this position.  If he was straddling a guy he was usually giving a lap dance and the client was definitely not allowed to rub and twist him and tease his cockhead with his thumb and let heads catch and pull against each other…Dean moaned low in the back of his throat and let his head drop back.  It felt good, but thinking about lap dances had reminded him of his final obligation to Heavenly Host.  He had never told Castiel about it.  Castiel’s mouth began to move hotly over his collarbone and he forgot about it again.

“Dean…”

“Wh-what?  Oh, God, Cas.  Tiel.  Your hand…”

“You like the way I touch you?”

“Yes.”

“I like seeing you like this.”

Dean screwed his eyes shut and turned his head.

“Don’t be embarrassed.”

Dean shook his head, not sure what he was trying to convey.

“Dean, can you reach the handkerchief in my left pocket?”

Dean tried to concentrate on digging into Castiel’s pocket, but he realized he was much closer to orgasm than he had realized.  He was making these soft, weird moaning sounds and would have been mortified if he hadn’t been so lust-drunk.  He’d never been with someone who turned him on this much.  And he couldn’t even explain why he was.

He did finally manage to pull out the handkerchief and handed it to Castiel.  The man placed it over their cockheads and then sped up his hand and increased his grip.  Dean grabbed onto Castiel’s shoulders.

“Castiel!  I’m—fuck…”

“It’s okay, whenever you’re ready.”

Dean hunched forward and put his cheek against Castiel’s forehead.  His body tensed and he whined soft and low and then he was coming in several short bursts.  This orgasm wasn’t nearly as intense as the previous two had been, but it left him feeling good and relaxed and oddly enough a little horny, like he was missing something.  Like a dick up his ass.  How long was he going to have to wait to get fucked?  He’d finally agreed to have sex for money, what was taking so long?

Dean bit his lower lip and looked down at their laps.  Castiel was folding the handkerchief up and Dean saw that he had managed to catch both of their semen in the cloth as Castiel was also going soft.

“Tuck me back in.”

Dean obeyed, carefully zipping Castiel’s pants up, and watched with curiosity as the man put the handkerchief back in his pocket.  He wondered if he was just going to throw it in the wash or if he was going to do something kinky-creepy with it later.  Then Castiel’s hands wandered over his thighs and hips before roving up his sides, over the planes of his stomach and chest, and onto his arms.

“Your skin is so soft.”

“Crowley insisted we moisturize.”

“Crowley?”

“The man who owns Heavenly Host.  The strip club I used to work at.”

“I thought you worked at Sweet Things with Gabriel.”

“I did.  Part time.  The rest of the time I was a stripper.”

Castiel’s brow creased but he wasn’t exactly frowning, and he was still petting Dean’s skin.

“Is that a problem?” Dean asked.

“The stripping?  No.  But I guess other men touched you.”

“No.  They weren’t allowed to.”

“But you touched them.”

“Not like this.”

Castiel looked up and met his eyes.  He smiled and moved his hands to Dean’s chest.  He clamped Dean’s nipples between his index fingers and thumbs.

“Was there anyone there that tempted you?”

Dean shook his head and let his eyes close as an open mouthed smile pulled at his lips.  Fuck why did it feel so good to have someone pinch his nipples?  And damn did Castiel have no qualms about pressure.  Dean gasped and pulled against the rising sensation, but Castiel held on firmly and the pain shot through his whole body.  At least, he recognized that it was pain and knew most people would be uncomfortable, but for some reason it felt good.  Maybe his neurological wires were crossed or something, but torturing his nipples gave him nearly the same kind of desirable physical sensation as having his dick sucked.  He probably belonged in a textbook or something.

He was temporarily disappointed as Castiel let go of one his nipples and moved his hand to the small of his back, but then teeth took over and Dean was flying high again.  He writhed in Castiel’s lap and completely unthinking, pulled at Castiel’s hair.  The only thing that could possibly be better was if Castiel would stick his dick up his ass already.  But he’d just come thirty fucking seconds ago, why he was already ready to go again?

Then Castiel stopped and straightened so he could look Dean in the eyes.  His face had an expression of awe on it.

“I’ve never had a real masochist before.  I never knew someone who isn’t a sadist could enjoy it so much.”

“What do you mean?” Dean asked, still squirming because he wanted more contact, but his body was coming down from the building sensations.

“A sadist is someone who receives sexual pleasure from causing someone pain.  I’m not a sadist.  I get pleasure from watching my subs become overwhelmed by pleasure.  Your pleasure is tied heavily to pain though.  So, even though I’m technically causing you pain, you’re interpreting it as pleasure, and so I’m back to enjoying your pleasure even though it’s actually pain.”

Dean settled in his lap and scritched his fingers through the hair at the nape of Castiel’s neck.  “You know, the technical talk isn’t quite as sexy as you might have hoped.  We might need to amend the verbal section of the contract to include no clinical descriptions of the nasty shit you do to me.”

Dean smiled and Castiel smiled back.  His hand slid up Dean’s back and he arched slightly into it.  Then he remembered Crowley and Heavenly Host and Zachariah.  Dean slumped down and sighed.

“What is it?” Castiel asked.

“I, uh…I have to ask a favor.”

“On day one?”  Castiel was smiling gently though, so Dean knew he didn’t mind.  Unfortunately, he was no longer in a good enough mood to enjoy the warm expression.

“More like, an addendum to our arrangement.”

Castiel’s face grew serious.  “Is something wrong?”

“No…I just…before we made this arrangement, I had agreed to take part in an event at Heavenly Host.  I resigned from Heavenly Host, but the owner told me that if I reneged on doing the event, he would never hire me back if I needed a job again.  And I…I can’t risk not being able to get my job back if…if this…well, nothing is guaranteed yet.”

Dean stared at the white of Castiel’s dress shirt on his left shoulder, too afraid to see Castiel’s reaction, too worried he was going to tell him no or fire him on the spot.

“I understand,” Castiel said softly.  “I can’t…promise you anything at the moment.  And it would be unfair and even cruel of me to jeopardize your potential future.  When is it?”

“In four weeks.”

“What will it entail?”

“I, and a couple of other strippers, will dance for a party of about ten men while they eat dinner.”

“Will there be contact during the dancing?”

“Yes.  But, we all work together, so we try to make it as least intimate as possible while still looking sexy.”

Castiel frowned.  “Will you have to touch the clients?”

Dean inhaled and exhaled slowly.  “Probably one of them.  He’ll want a lap dance.”

“But there won’t be any sex?”

“No intercourse.”

“What will happen?”

“He’ll probably want me to grind on his lap until he comes.”

Dean hissed sharply as Castiel’s nails dug into his back and hip.  The man immediately loosened his grip.

“Apologies.  Are you hurt?”

Dean shook his head.  Castiel’s jaw twitched a little, and then he met Dean’s eyes.

“I understand that you have to do this.  So long as you keep to the terms of our agreement—no sexual intercourse of any kind—I don’t think it will be…a problem.”

Dean nodded.  Then he attempted a smirk.  “And hey.  Maybe in four weeks I won’t have to do it because I’ll have job security here.”  He let out a small, forced laugh.

Castiel lowered his eyes.  “I won’t be able to do that in only a month,” he said quietly.

“Yeah.  I get it.”

“Dean…”

“Yes?”

“I’m going to kiss you.  And I want you to…just take it.  Do you understand?”

For a moment Dean didn’t understand.  Then he realized that Castiel didn’t want him kissing him back, or at least being aggressive about it.  He nodded.

“Sir, please kiss me.”

Castiel grabbed his face with both hands and brought their mouths together.  Dean let out a noise of surprise at the intensity and wildness of the kiss.  He wasn’t sure he would have been able to reciprocate even if he’d been allowed to.  Despite Dean having a slight height advantage from sitting on his lap, Castiel had total control over the direction of the kiss.  His tongue was hot and hard and slick and filled his mouth over and over, imitating fucking and creating a phantom sensation between Dean’s legs.  All Dean could do was hold on and lament the fact that his dick was so fucking tired because he wanted to be hard again for Castiel.

Gradually, Castiel eased off, allowing room for both of them to breathe and to relax.  The arousal that had built up in Dean settled into a warm pleasant warmth curling just under his skin.  He was participating now, but the kissing was so easy and lazy that he still felt like he was obeying the order to just take it.  He had his arms locked around Castiel’s neck, and his thighs were starting to ache a little from being spread apart for so long, but he wasn’t going anywhere.

Something began dinging behind him, but it wasn’t jarring enough to make him stop.  It did catch Castiel’s attention though.  He pulled away and looked over Dean’s shoulder at his computer monitors.

“Fuck!”

Dean started to ask what was wrong, but then Castiel dumped him out of his lap and half onto the floor and half onto the pillow.

“What the—”

Castiel put the back of his fingers against Dean’s lips.  “Shh!  Not a word, not a sound!”

Dean immediately went still and Castiel clicked something on his computer.

“Castiel!” a female voice came out of the speakers.  “Thank goodness you’re okay.  You missed our call.  I know you hate when I call, but, it was weird that you missed our appointment.”

“I know.  I apologize.  I…”  Castiel trailed off and swiped his free hand over his hair.  “I…fell asleep.”

“Are you okay?  If you’re fatigued you might need to call in a doctor.  You have your schedule so set, I can’t imagine you’re not getting enough sleep.”

“No, no, it’s nothing like that.  I scheduled myself to watch a documentary on wasps.  They’re not nearly as interesting as bees.  It put me to sleep.”

The woman laughed and it was a pleasant, friendly sound.  “So you can be normal.”

“I am normal,” Castiel grumbled.

“Yeah, bestie, I know.”

 _Bestie_? Dean thought, glancing up at the underside of the desk where the mystery woman was out of view.  He licked his lips, wetting Castiel’s fingers, and the man threw a warning glance down at him.

“I apologize for missing our call, but I’m not prepared at the moment.  I need to rearrange my schedule.  Can I call you back when I’ve got it worked out?”

“Of course.  I’m not going anywhere.”

“Thank you, Charlie.”

“You’re welcome, Cas.  If you need to postpone the call until Wednesday’s usual time, that works too.”

Castiel looked embarrassed.  “Yes…I might need to do that.”

“I thought so.  Don’t worry, it won’t put us behind.  I had nothing business related today anyway.”

Castiel nodded.  “Okay.  Good afternoon, Charlie.”

“Bye, Cas.”

The call disconnected and Castiel sat back in his chair.  He pulled his hand back and wiped his fingers off before glancing down at Dean and then away.

“You have to go.  It’s after four.”

“Oh…oh.”

Dean stood up awkwardly, feeling more than just physically naked.  He walked out of the office and to the front door.  He paused by the footlocker.  He glanced back at Castiel, and then lowered his chin slightly so that he could reach the collar buckle.  Castiel shook his head.

“You put it on, you take it off.”

Dean raised his head.  Displeasure wriggled in his gut.  The collar symbolized that he was Castiel’s; it didn’t make sense that he was allowed to take it off willy-nilly whenever he felt like it.  Castiel should be the one to make that decision.  He shook his head.

“Dean.”

Dean flinched even though the tone wasn’t harsh.  Castiel stepped close and ran a hand up his chest, thumbing a nipple on his path up to the collar.  Then he lifted his hand to Dean’s cheek and made him look at him.

“If it were up to me…I’d never take it off.”

Dean’s lips parted in mild surprise and… something he shouldn’t think about.

“You decide when we start and when we stop.  You must have control of this one thing.  Do you understand?”

Dean nodded.

“Good.”

Castiel’s hand moved so he could brush his thumb over Dean’s lips, again.  For a moment he was the man who had gently dominated him all day, and then he snatched his hand back and took two steps back.

“It’s after four o’clock.”

Dean repressed a sigh and reached up to unbuckle the collar.  As soon as it was off he was suddenly very aware of how naked he was.

“Oh, I got this out,” Castiel said as he walked over to the shelving unit on the fuzzy carpet.

Dean took the time to open the locker and start putting on his clothes.  Castiel returned with a small wooden box just as Dean finished hopping into his jeans.  Castiel opened the box and it was lined with black velvet.

“Did you have a whole bunch of these custom made or something?” Dean asked as he put his T-shirt on a little awkwardly as he still held the collar in one hand.  Then he winced and at looked at Castiel.  But the collar was off, which meant he could speak at his leisure he supposed.

“I did.  When we get you your own collar, you can also help me design the box for it.”

Dean looked up from buckling the collar back into a circle.  “When.  Not if?”

Castiel kept his eyes focused somewhere below Dean’s chin.  If Dean didn’t know any better he’d say the guy was blushing.

“Well.  I guess I just have a feeling that this is…”  he looked up and met Dean’s eyes.  “I think this is going to work out for some time.”

Dean wouldn’t let himself smile, but he allowed himself to voice agreement: “I think, maybe, yeah.”  Not his most eloquent, but it seemed to please Castiel.

Then Castiel made a face.  “Gabriel is going to rub my face in this.”

Dean chuckled and placed the collar in the box.  “Well, then you can rub my face in something else to make you feel better.”

Castiel frowned.  “Why would that make me feel better?  For one thing, I don’t know enough about you to know what would be something that you would find aggravating you were wrong about.”

“Oh.  Um.  I was actually thinking literally rubbing my face in something.  Like your crotch.”

Castiel stiffened and the tips of his ears definitely turned red.

“But, I would be unhappy if you rubbed my nose in the fact that apple pie is unofficially deemed to be the best flavor of pie, when everybody knows its strawberry-rhubarb.”

Castiel snapped the lid shut on the box.  “Strange man,” he murmured.

“ _I’m_ strange?” Dean asked as he shrugged into his over shirt.

Castiel didn’t respond, but challenged him to say something with his eyes.  Dean just ignored him and put his socks back on.  He gathered his wallet and keys from the circular table and deposited them back into the appropriate pockets.  When he was done he found Castiel clasping the box tightly in his hands and several steps away from him.

“It’s after four o’clock, Dean.  You have to leave.  In the future you must watch time the better.  I mean, so do I, it’s not all your fault.  But you can’t stay late.”

“O-okay.”  Dean felt something heavy settle on his shoulders.  He didn’t recognize this man as the person he had trusted himself to all day.  Dean took his shoes out of the footlocker and opened the door.  He stepped through and turned back to look at Castiel.  He had walked over to the door and had a hand on the knob.

“I’ll leave the box with the collar in the footlocker.  I’ll see you tomorrow at eight.  Good afternoon.”

Castiel shut the door in his face and Dean was left standing sock footed in the hallway holding his shoes.  He felt like an idiot.  He leaned against the wall to put his shoes on.  He couldn’t believe he’d thought for a moment that he had enjoyed himself today.  Castiel was a freak, and he was a freak for indulging him.

Dean cursed under his breath and stalked down the hallway to the elevator.  He wondered if he should even come back tomorrow.  He punched the call button and just kept telling himself over and over: _think about the money, think about the money_.


	4. Chapter 4

Dean hesitated outside of Castiel’s door.  Day two.  He wasn’t sure if he could actually do this.  The whiplash he’d received yesterday, in the morning and the afternoon, had left him feeling antsy and cranky and anxious.  He wanted the job, and he liked Castiel when he was in control, but the damaged side of him just might be more than he could deal with.  But it had been one day.  And they’d broken some of the rules.  That’s why things went astray.  Exactly.  They were both to blame for not abiding by the rules.  If they followed the terms of their agreement, everything would be fine and super not weird.

Dean shook himself and knocked on the door.  _Super not weird_ , he reminded himself.  He was wary as hell of the recluse and now he was supposed to be able to act sexy and aroused around him?  Not likely.  The door opened and Castiel stood partway behind the door wearing brown corduroy pants and a baggy green sweater.  His hair was messed up on one side and his eyes had a suspicious squint to them.  He looked like that crazy neighbor who used to set his chicken on him and Sam when they’d lived in Iowa for a while.  Perfect.

“Good morning, Castiel.”

“Good morning, Dean.  Won’t you come inside?”

They were being overly formal.  This day was going to be hell.  Dean removed his shoes and stepped inside.  Castiel left him and disappeared through the opening to the hallway.  Dean zipped his shoes inside the plastic bag and then quickly disrobed and sanitized his hands and cell phone.  Then he opened the box that contained the red collar.  He fingered it with uncertainty, and then buckled it into place.  Some of his jitters settled with the feel of the collar on his neck.  He felt a little better about making the trip to the bathroom.

Castiel was waiting by the sink and indicated he should brush his teeth and use the mouthwash first.  When he was done, Dean washed at the wall showerhead, and then slipped into the waiting bathtub.  He waited for Castiel to begin, but the man was sitting on a stool three feet back with his arms crossed over his chest.  He indicated the soap and rag with his chin, and Dean took that to mean that he would be bathing himself today.  Things were getting bad awkward again.

Once he was clean, Castiel watched him dry off and then led him to the office.  He had Dean sit down on the white, furry pillow and proceeded to ignore him as he worked at his computer.  Dean could feel his ability to behave himself teetering on a broken fence.  He was going to lose it if he was expected to sit here all day like some kind of decoration.  Just before he got to his breaking point, Castiel spoke.

“Dean, go to the filing cabinets and find the file marked Claim, Henson, July 2014.”

Dean stood up and walked to the cabinets.  He sorted through the files until he understood Castiel’s system: he organized by fiscal year, then month, and then alphabetized within the month by file type, and then alphabetized by surname.  It didn’t seem like an intuitive system, but once he figured it out it was easy to find the file he was looking for.  He brought it to Castiel who thanked him, ghosted a hand down his flank, and told him to sit down.  Dean focused on even breathing to keep himself from getting irritated.  It didn’t really work too well.  Once again though, before he got to the point where he would break his character and start tearing Castiel a new one, the man asked him to water the plants around the apartment.

It took almost half an hour; he hadn’t realized before how many tiny planters were placed here and there on various shelves all over the condo.  It was kind of like a horror movie: every time he turned around there was a plant he hadn’t seen before that needed watering.  At least he figured that the plant watering would provide him with an excuse to peek in the playroom, but the door was locked.  Dean griped to himself and made a cup of coffee because he figured he was still under the carte blanche rule of whenever he was hungry or thirsty he could get something from the kitchen.  He washed the mug and then rinsed out his mouth with water.  If Castiel kissed him—which seemed unlikely the way things were going—then he would still be able to tell he’d had some coffee, but at least he wouldn’t just be breathing dragon-coffee breath everywhere.

He returned to the office and sat on the fluffy pillow.  All day long the periodic, tiny orders continued.  He had to arrange the throw pillows on the couches by color.  He had to adjust a picture on the wall by tiny increments left or right as Castiel flicked a finger one way or the other.  He had to make them lunch again.  He had to change the sheets on Castiel’s bed.  Truth be told he felt more like a slave than a sub, and he hated it.  This just wasn’t going to work out.  The guy apparently needed a servant or something.  Just one he could occasionally get a blow job from.  He decided he would keep himself in check for the rest of the day, and then he would propose terminating the arrangement.  There was no sense in prolonging an already awkward situation.

At a quarter to four Castiel followed him to the front room.  He put his clothes on before taking off the collar; he’d learned yesterday how weird it felt when he ended their arrangement and then was left standing naked in the guy’s condo.  Especially since he was going to tell him he wasn’t coming back.  He reached his hands up for the collar.

“Stop.”

Dean froze.  It wasn’t four o’clock yet and he still had the collar on.  Technically, he was still Castiel’s sub and he should obey him.  Hell, one last stupid order wasn’t going to change anything.  He dropped his hands and turned to look at Castiel.  The man stepped close, his eyes jumping around as they examined his face.  Then Castiel leaned in and placed a barely there kiss on his chin.  And then his cheeks, his eyelids, the bolt of his jaw, his left earlobe, the tip of his right ear, his forehead.  Dean stood still and shivered under the ministrations, which were somehow very sensual despite the barely there touches.

Then Castiel kissed his cheek again with slightly more pressure.  “Thank you for today,” he whispered so softly Dean could barely understand him.

Then he kissed the underside of his jaw.  “Thank you for being so patient.”

He kissed the corner of his mouth, a soft growl trickling in with his quiet words.  “Thank you for being so obedient.”

Dean swallowed thickly and parted his lips to draw a deeper breath.  Castiel grabbed his face with both hands and slammed their lips together.  Dean let out a noise of surprise when he was shoved up against the door as Castiel kissed him wildly.  When his mouth was released, he was panting and seeing spots in his vision.  Before he realized what was happening, Castiel was on his knees and jerking his fly open.  Dean shouted and his elbows and head thumped against the door with a spasm as Castiel swallowed down his cock.  Dean started panting and letting out small grunting sounds on each exhalation with an intensity that was making it difficult to really breathe.  One hand found the door knob and held onto it for all he was worth.  The other hand found Castiel’s hair and moved back and forth with his rapidly bobbing head.  He was so hard it fucking hurt.  He’d gone from zero to about to come in ten fucking seconds and Castiel was going to kill him right here, right now…right fucking now.

Dean groaned loudly and unendingly, pulling on the doorknob behind him.

“Jesus, fuck.  Oh, God.  Oh my God.”  He stopped talking to try to draw a breath.  That was possibly the shortest and best blowjob he’d ever gotten in his life.  He was vaguely aware that Castiel was tucking a handkerchief into his pocket (apparently he hadn’t swallowed, what a bummer) and zipping Dean back up before getting to his feet.  Dean watched him with glazed eyes, his breathing still off kilter.  Castiel just stared at him.  In his fuzzy mind, Dean knew he was supposed to reciprocate or something.  His hand reached for Castiel, but the man stopped him by holding his hand.

“It’s okay.  It’s almost four.  You have to go.”

“But—”

“You can take care of me tomorrow.”

Dean tried to organize his thoughts.  Wasn’t there something he was supposed to tell him about tomorrow?  He couldn’t think of it, so he just nodded.  Castiel stepped back to allow Dean the room he needed to undo his collar and retrieve his shoes from the footlocker.  Then he was outside with the door closing behind him just as his watch hit four o’clock.  He leaned against the door and just breathed for several minutes.  He finally opened his eyes when he heard the sound of a key fitting into a lock.  Across the way at the only other door in the building stood a man with a couple of grocery bags.  He was eyeing Dean suspiciously with a judgmentally raised eyebrow.  Then he got the door open and stepped inside his condo.  Dean pushed off Castiel’s door and made his way to the elevator on wobbly legs.  At least the guy hadn’t been there earlier; Dean was certain they’d have easily been heard through the door.

As the elevator descended and he put his shoes back on, Dean remembered he was supposed to have told Castiel that he wasn’t coming back.  Well, he supposed he could tell him tomorrow.

~~~

The third day went a little differently right from the start.  Dean still stripped and put on his collar while alone, and then found Castiel in the bathroom.  Teeth were first and then a quick shower under the wall showerhead.  However, when he sat down in the steaming bathtub, Castiel was beside him with his shirtsleeves rolled up.  The odd washing ritual from the first day was repeated, but this time Dean was prepared for the way the douche worked and was able to enjoy the sensation without getting worked up.

After he had toweled off, Castiel bent him over the sink and Dean shook with excitement.  Castiel was finally going to fuck him.  He kept hearing sounds behind him, but nothing was touching him.  He would prep him first, right?  Dean glanced over his shoulder and realized that Castiel was jerking himself off.  His jaw dropped in outraged disappointment.  He wasn’t even going to touch him?  Then Castiel grabbed his hip with one hand and closed his eyes as he spurted come all over Dean’s lower back and ass.  Dean’s hands clenched the countertop when he felt Castiel wipe the tip off on his skin.  Then the man told him to clean up and join him in the office when he was done.  He left the room and Dean slumped forward onto the counter.  He looked down at the semi-chubby between his legs looking for some sort of direction—up or down?

“Down, boy,” Dean groused.

He rinsed off Castiel’s come—he was sorely tempted to taste it, but refrained—and walked down to Castiel’s office.  He tried the doorknob to the playroom as he passed—still locked.  He pouted.  In the office he walked immediately to the white pillow and sat down.  Castiel’s hand dipped down and cupped his jaw affectionately for a few moments, and then he began working.

From then on, things went like yesterday, and yet not.  Castiel ignored him except to give him small, ridiculous tasks.  This time, however, Dean noticed the way Castiel’s shoulders began to un-tense each time Dean got up to obey him.  He noticed the gleam in Castiel’s eye right before he delivered a new task.  He noticed that with each passing hour and order, Castiel’s body language changed from rigid and nervous to relaxed and controlled.  Dean found himself actually enjoying the stupid tasks because when he did them, he pleased Castiel.

He pulled up short from turning every planter in the condo a quarter turn to the left when that thought crossed his mind.  Had that been what Gabriel meant when he had said that a true sub didn’t obey his dom because he _had_ to submit to him, but because he _wanted_ to please him by being obedient?  Well, hell.  Maybe he was cut out for this job after all.

Dean finished with the planters and returned to his pillow, which Castiel had moved about three feet away from his chair.  Relaxing back onto it like a Jabba the Hut slave girl (because why not), Dean thought he had some time before his next task.  They’d eaten about an hour ago and still had a couple hours left before it was time for him to leave, so Dean figured he could go over the monthly expenses and Sam’s schedule in his head until his next assignment.  About five minutes later, he was startled into action when Castiel tossed something to him which he caught instinctively in his right hand.  Castiel had turned in his chair to face him, one leg crossed over the other, and was resting his chin on his hand which was propped up by his elbow on the desk.

“Finger yourself open,” Castiel said evenly.

Dean stared dumbfounded for a moment, and then glanced at the object in his hand.  It was a bottle of lube.  _Oh, hell yes, about fucking time_.  Dean eagerly leaned back and reached a hand between his legs.  He tapped his hole with his finger and ran the pad over it dry a few times, reveling in the promise that he was going to get filled.  Then he snapped the lid open on the lube and poured a generous amount directly onto his perineum and let it run down to his opening.  He swirled his finger around to get it covered and wet, and then shoved it in his hole as far as he could.  He may not have had sex in six months, but he did own a dildo and kept himself disposed to quick prep work.

He tilted his head to the side so that he could rest his neck, but still see Castiel.  The man hadn’t moved, his dark eyes focused between Dean’s legs.  Dean moaned softly and moved his finger faster, enjoying the feeling of something finally inside of him and knowing it would only get better with something bigger.  He twisted his wrist and gently worked in a second finger.  Then he started pumping his hand in and out quickly.  He hummed with satisfaction and reached his free hand down to his cock.

“Ah-ah,” Castiel warned him off.

Dean grunted and released his dick.  He jumped right ahead to a third finger to make up for the fact that he couldn't touch himself.  Trying to finger himself with three fingers was a bit awkward, but he managed and looked once again to Castiel for his reaction.  His pinky and ring fingers had slid beneath his nose, partially covering his lips.  Dean could just see the small smile behind the digits and the way Castiel’s tongue peeked out between his pink lips to touch his fingers.  He moaned and let his knees fall wide apart, exposing himself completely to Castiel’s gaze.  He’d had sex with guys before, but he’d never fingered himself or masturbated in front of one before.  It was hot.  At least, Castiel watching him was hot.  But he knew what would be better.

Dean thrust his fingers into himself repeatedly and groaned with what sounded like frustration and dissatisfaction.  A little playacting might get him what he needed.

“You think I’m going to fall for that?”

Castiel’s voice was different from anything he had heard before.  It was low and dark, but the roughness was gone—it was smooth as silk.

“Do you think I don’t know you’re enjoying yourself?  Do you think I don’t know what you want?”

Dean gripped the pillow in his free hand and felt his jaw drop down as he stared at Castiel and fucked himself on his fingers.  The most pathetic sounds were falling his from lips with each thrust of his fingers.

“So noisy,” Castiel continued.  “I’ll have to wear a tie tomorrow.”

Dean gritted his teeth to keep quiet but all that did was make him whine louder.  Shit.  Castiel was going to gag him tomorrow.  He hated gags, and yet he was fucking leaking all over his belly at the thought of Castiel shoving a tie into his mouth.

“F-fuck…Jesus.  Cas.  Tiel.  God.”

“That’s a lot of deities, Dean.  Are you saying I fit among them?”

“Please, please…please!”

Castiel finally moved.  He opened a drawer beside him and pulled out a wooden box.  He opened the lid and without even taking it out Dean could see the large, glass dildo.  He moaned and dropped his back on the pillow.  Glass was good—it meant it was smooth and would slip in easily.  But glass had no give—whatever the width, that’s how far he would stay stretched open.  He let out a weird sound between a hum and a grunt and Castiel chuckled as he took the glass dildo out of its case, and then moved to kneel between Dean’s legs.

“Fingers out.”

Dean removed his hand immediately and raised his head to watch Castiel.  The man prodded his entrance with the head of the dildo.  It was big.  Kind of bordering on too big, but he knew his limits and this wasn’t it.  Not yet.  The tip penetrated him easily, and then Cas began the tortuous process of slowly pressing the thing in inch by inch by inch by—“Jesus!  Oh, God.  Still going,” Dean moaned.

“Thanks for the update,” Castiel commented casually.

“Fuck you, Cas.  Oh, yessssss!” Dean hissed and somehow spread his legs just a little bit wider and he felt the muscles of his entrance flex and pull the last bit of the dildo inside him.  The base snugged up against his hole and he trembled as he felt everywhere that the cool glass stretched him wide open.  Just as he was starting to get used to it and settle down a bit, Castiel took the dildo by the base and slid it back, but not out, leaving his rim stretched wide and his insides empty.  He let out a real noise of frustration this time, but then Castiel was sliding it back into him.  Then he pulled it out, and let Dean’s hole pull it back in.  He did this for some time, fucking Dean slowly and deliberately.  Dean needed more.  He needed it to be faster, harder—and yet, the steady pace was getting him there.  Building up the pleasure slowly, but so surely.

Then Castiel began fondling his nipples.  Nothing too rough, but a pinch and a tug here and there, sending little jolts down to his groin as the dildo moved inside of him—stretching him, gliding over his prostate, but not giving it too much pressure.  He had no idea how long he lay sprawled on that stupid fuzzy pillow with Castiel’s eyes boring down onto him as that dildo slowly fucked him to a state where he felt buzzed like he’d been drinking.  His whole body was shaking and he couldn’t control any of the keening whines that spilled out of him.  He’d never made sounds like these before.  Faked some moaning?  Sure.  Actually moaned?  Yes.  But mewling?  He let out an aggravated shout.

“You want to say something?” Castiel asked.

Dean nodded frantically.

“Go ahead.”

“When are you going to fuck me?” he forced out through a clenched jaw.

His eyes focused as he sensed movement.  Castiel hovered over him, a feral grin on his face making him look like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Dean let out a sobbing groan and had to grab the base of his dick, feeling like he might come from that alone.  Castiel grabbed his wrist and pulled his hand away, replacing it with his own slow hard strokes.

“No, no—no, I’m, Castiel—Cas—tiel…”

The dildo had never stopped moving and the slowly building sensation combined with Castiel’s hand on his cock finally hit his threshold.  He clenched around the dildo as it still moved inside him, his balls pulled up tight, and his dick shot long white ribbons into the air to land back on his stomach and chest.

“Yes, yes… _fuck_ , yes.”  Dean ran his hands back through his hair and swiveled his hips around on the dildo.  “Castiel…”

Castiel only let him revel for a few more moments, and then he pulled out the dildo and pushed at Dean’s hips until he got the hint and rolled over.  He gasped and his eyes flew wide open when he felt Castiel’s member between his cheeks.  He started to rise up on all fours, but Castiel pushed his down into the pillow.  He slid his cock along Dean’s ass, but apparently had no plans to actually fuck him.  Dean bit into his forearm to stifle his angry, needy groan and tried to press his hips back up into the man behind him.  It wasn’t long before he could feel the slick warmth of Castiel’s come lubricating the motions of his softening cock between his ass cheeks.  Castiel hadn’t made any noise before he came.  Dean vowed he would make the man scream one day.

Castiel stopped moving and leaned over to press kisses to Dean’s shoulders.  “Go wash up.  It’s almost time to go.”

Dean groaned and dropped his head onto the pillow.  He was spent and didn’t want to go anywhere, but it was almost four o’clock, and Wednesday was one of the days Sam’s debate club met and he would need a ride home.  He groaned softly again, but pushed himself to his feet.  Castiel was already put together and didn’t look like he’d just slow fucked a man with a glass dildo and then rutted against his ass until he came.  Well, his hair was a little mussed.

After rinsing and drying off, he only had a few minutes until four.  He dressed hurriedly and got his collar off and his shoes out in just enough to time to jump outside the door.  Castiel leaned against the side of the door, one hand holding the knob.

“You don’t have to be out by the stroke of four, Dean,” Castiel said.  “I have OCD, but I’m not crazy.”

“Debatable,” Dean retorted.  “Dude, you gotta stop waiting until the last minute though.  It’s called afterglow.”

Castiel smiled.  “No ‘dudes.’”

“I’m not on the clock right now.”

“Then I guess I don’t have to listen to your feedback.”

Dean shook his head at him.  “How is this only day three?”

Castiel’s smile faltered and Dean wondered why what he’d said had that effect on him.

“Until day four,” Castiel said.

“Yeah…”

Castiel shut the door and Dean bent over to put his shoes on.  He straightened and rubbed his hands down his face.  Day three: had it been too long or not long enough?

~~~

Day four began calmly.  They went through the entire bathroom routine and no one got off even once.  Dean wondered if that was a shame or a relief.  Instead of going to his office, Castiel led him to the bedroom so that he could put on the yoga pants he’d worn the first day.  Castiel added a thin blue T-shirt to the ensemble and then led him to the kitchen.  Dean’s eyebrows shot up as he saw that all the available counter space had been taken up by neatly ordered collections of ingredients next to mixing and measuring bowls all of which were arranged over a large square index card with a recipe on it.  He glanced at the one closest to him: chocolate peanut butter brownies.

“You, uh, opening a home bakery, Castiel?”

“Do you bake?” Castiel deflected.

“I cook better than I bake, but it’s not completely foreign to me.”

“Good.  Then we should be able to knock this out in eight hours.”

Dean made a face and looked around again.  “How much are you planning on baking?”

“Two dozen of each.”

“Two doz—how many is each?”

“Well, three kinds of brownies, lemon bars, two kinds of cookies, and red velvet cupcakes.”

Dean tried to calculate baking times in his head; he wasn’t entirely sure eight hours was enough.

“I’ve studied the recipes very carefully and laid them out in the order we should make them in order to optimize efficiency and oven use.  I have a double oven, so it should work out.”

“Unh-huh,” he gave Castiel a side-eye glance.

“Don’t look at me like that.  I know cooks like to willy-nilly throw ingredients together and estimate quantities and say things like ‘it’ll be ready when it’s ready,’ but this is baking.  Baking is chemistry.  It’s very precise.”

Dean put his hands in the air.  “Your kitchen, your rules.”

Castiel’s shoulders relaxed a little and he smiled.  His eyes flicked over Dean’s body.  “Yes,” he murmured, “my kitchen, my rules.  Shirt off.”

Dean rolled his eyes but pulled the shirt over his head and tossed it over the bar to the floor on the other side.  Dean watched as Castiel twitched and crossed his arms, unfolded them, and crossed them again.

“You want me to pick that up?”

“Would you?”

Dean nodded and walked around the other side to pick up the shirt and fold it neatly.  He placed it on one of the stools and stepped back into the kitchen.

“Alright, General, what’s first?”

“General?  No…let’s go with Captain.”

Dean chuckled softly.  “Aye, aye, Captain.  Where do you want me?”  He winked at Castiel and the man narrowed his eyes at him.

“I don’t like double entendres.”

“You didn’t specify that in the verbal section.”

Castiel opened his mouth, and then closed it.  “Shit.”  He turned away to go to his first station and Dean’s eyebrows shot up in surprised amusement.  Had he just used the contract against Castiel, and won?  This could definitely have some benefits.

“Private Winchester, I need you over here.”

“They don’t have privates in the Navy.”

“But they do have captains in the Army.”

“Yeah, but that’s a pretty low rank in the Army.”

“It’s above you, isn’t it?” Castiel asked with a quirked eyebrow.

“Touché.”

Castiel’s arch look didn’t ease.

Dean stood up straight at parade rest.  “Yes, sir.”

Castiel smiled and nodded.  “That’s what I thought.”

Castiel set him to work immediately and had him jumping from recipe to recipe as he’d worked out some sort of system to make sure that they never had to waste time by waiting on any single step.  The kitchen was soon filled with conflicting good smells and it was considerably warmer than usual.  Dean was grateful he was shirtless.  That is until Castiel smeared a brownie-battered covered spatula over his left shoulder.  He’d had to wash the damn spatula while Castiel kiss-licked the batter from his skin.  He’d pointed out the fact that the batter had raw egg in it, but Castiel was not dissuaded and simply smacked Dean on the ass.

Next was the whipped cream—which was not needed for any recipe so he didn’t know why Castiel had it out in the first place—and that wound up on his arms, his neck, his lips.  It was amazing how many places Castiel “accidentally” got food on him over the course of several hours.  At one point he didn’t even use the ruse of getting batter on Dean’s chest, he just licked and kissed his way from one nipple to the other while Dean sifted flour for the cupcakes.

Of course, Dean never got to reciprocate.  Castiel told him that if he got him dirty he’d have to go sit on the fuzzy pillow by himself until Castiel finished.  He also told Dean that he couldn’t get his hands dirty because it would waste too much time if he had to keep stopping to wash them.  So, all morning and part of the afternoon he measured and mixed and baked—and Castiel kissed and licked and fondled.  It wasn’t until the counters were covered in cooling baked goods and the last two batches were in the ovens that Castiel sat down in a dining room chair and pulled Dean into his lap.

He’d spent most of the day in an aroused state with varying degrees of an erection, and now finally he was able to touch in return and allow his body to do what it wanted rather than trying to repress or ignore it.  Through the thin yoga pants and Castiel’s soft jeans, Castiel’s cock was a hot, hard rod pressing between his cheeks.  He was tall enough that even sitting on Castiel’s lap he could plant his feet on the floor and use the leverage to grind down onto Castiel’s dick, swiveling his hips so that fabric and skin and heat and want all dragged against each other.  Castiel pulled his cock out of the yoga pants and jacked him off while he rutted on his lap.  Their soft “mm’s” and “unh’s” turned into breathy pants and wet smacks as they started kissing.  Dean ran his hands through Castiel’s hair—it was soft and silky and slipped through his fingers like water.  Castiel’s hand worked languidly but thoroughly at his cock, and the other disappeared beneath the yoga pants, squeezing a butt cheek every time Dean lifted slightly up.

Dean could feel that Castiel was nearing the edge with him, so he redoubled his efforts in his lap, and sealed their lips together, leaving them joined and allowing Castiel’s tongue to trace over every centimeter of his mouth.  Then he had to pull back.  He pressed his forehead tightly to Castiel’s as he panted and groaned with each degree his body tightened…a little bit more, a little bit more, his toes curling, his knees rising up—and then he came with a pleased hum, grinding hard in Castiel’s lap as he tried to get the man as deep as their clothes would allow.  For the first time, Castiel’s orgasm was in tandem with his and they were able to ride out the ensuing wash of endorphins together.

When Dean opened his eyes and looked down, he realized he’d come all over Castiel’s shirt.  He half expected Castiel to freak out, drop him on the floor, and run for the shower, and he half expected him to just pass out right on the spot.  What he did do was raise his hand to his lips and lick a swath of Dean’s come off his thumb.  Then he put a hand to the back of Dean’s neck, pulled him forward, and kissed him, tonguing Dean’s come into his own mouth.  Dean gladly sucked his tongue and then kissed him back.  Before he was done though, Castiel gently pushed him back and made him stand up.  He stood up and pulled at where his shirt was sticking to his skin, making a face.  Then he addressed Dean.

“Wash your hands, and then start bundling the items in groups of three.  Some all the same kind, some mixed.  Do you remember where the plastic wrap is?”

Dean nodded.

“Good.  I’m going to shower and change clothes.”

Then Castiel left him and Dean made a face at his back.  Sure, he wasn’t as dirty or sticky as Castiel, but he wouldn’t have minded washing off either.  Especially if it meant washing off with Castiel.  Being around him was still a little weird and at times boring, but at least the sex was fun.

Dean sighed and realized that if he wanted more sex he better obey Castiel’s orders.  He washed his hands and started grouping the brownies and cookies together in small squares of plastic wrap.  He checked on the last batch of lemon bars in the oven and pulled them out to cool just as Castiel returned with a wet head and smelling fresh in a pair of yoga pants and a lightweight shirt.  His body looked good in clothes.  Probably helped that his body looked good in general.

“Are the cupcakes cool enough to be frosted?”

Dean tapped one with the top of his finger.  “Yeah, they should be good.  You, uh, going to tell me why we made all these?  And are we even going to get to sample any?”

“If there are any leftover,” he said, shooting a glare in Dean’s direction.

Dean smiled and turned away.  Castiel had picked recipes that stated they made exactly twenty-four cookies, but Dean knew that depending on what utensils were used and who was spooning out the dough, that often times there was enough dough left over to make three or four extra cookies.  Castiel had not been happy with Dean trying to fit the extra dough onto the cookie sheets and crowding his perfectly formed lines, but Dean had won the battle by telling him that just meant they’d be able to eat some when they were done.

Dean picked up one of the spare cookies (it was easy to tell which were which since the leftovers had a crammed up/lopsided look about them) and took a bite out of it, holding it with his lips, as he twisted a group of cookies together and tied off the top with the blue ribbon Castiel had produced from somewhere.  He yelped and almost dropped the cookie on the floor when the flat of a wooden spoon whacked him on the ass.

“No sampling until we’re done.  Now get over here and help me put the icing on these cupcakes.”

“Frosting.”

“Is there a difference?”

“Yes.”

“What is it?”

Dean looked at a Castiel for a moment.  “You want help with these cupcakes or not?”

Castiel looked smug, assuming he’d bested Dean and handed him a knife and the bowl of frosting they’d made up earlier.  Dean started carefully applying the frosting, following Castiel’s instructions not to get any on the paper.  Castiel just watched him as he worked through three cupcakes, and then he picked up his own knife.  Dean assumed Castiel had just been watching him to make sure he wasn’t going to fuck anything up and now he was going to help, but the only thing Castiel frosted was Dean’s left nipple.

“Seriously?” Dean asked dryly as he worked on his fourth cupcake.

“Don’t stop,” was all Castiel said before he leaned over and began to flick his tongue out, just tasting the frosting and sending weird, tingly sensations through his nipple.

As Dean worked his way through the cupcakes, Castiel licked off all the frosting off and then continued on like Dean’s nipple tasted just as sweet.  He never applied more frosting and he never changed sides.  It was the same nipple and the more Castiel licked and kissed and then began sucking on it, the more his hands began to shake as he frosted.  Then Castiel added teeth and started scraping them over the nipple, clamping on it and rolling it around.  One cupcake was only half-frosted.  Then Castiel grabbed his torso, leaning on to him as his sucking and biting became so hard that Dean’s body was swaying with the motions.  Or maybe he was swaying because he was barely keeping on his feet.  Dean slapped a knife-ful of frosting on the last cupcake, but then had to drop both knife and cupcake onto the counter.  He braced his hands on the edge and felt his knees giving out.  Castiel started to pull him down and he slid down, turning so his back was to the cabinets and used their support to get him onto the floor.  Castiel hadn’t let up for a second.  Dean kicked one leg out in a frenzy, fighting against the pleasured noises pouring out of him.  Everything was made worse by the imbalance—his other nipple was completely untouched, and the one in Castiel’s mouth—

“Shit!”  Dean grabbed Castiel’s head and kicked his legs out again as Castiel sucked his nipple so hard into his mouth the tip slipped between his teeth, sharp and pinching and leaving Dean desperate for some kind of release.  Castiel was relentless for another unbearable minute, and then he backed off, laving the abused nipple with wide, flat strokes of his tongue.  Dean’s body unlocked in increments and he clenched his teeth in frustration as Castiel’s attentions became gentler and gentler.  Then he gave him one final kiss and sat back.  His left nipple was nearly purple and throbbing with the aftereffects of the abuse.  It felt more intense because his right nipple was bereft of any touch at all.

Castiel kissed his sternum, and then his Adam’s apple and then his cheek and then his lips.  He pulled back and made eye contact.

“That’s for calling me Cas yesterday.”

Then he got to his feet and left Dean in a puddle on the floor.  Dean shook his head.  The fuck was he talking about?  When had he called him Cas?

“Stand up and help me finish the cupcakes and wrap up what’s left.  By the time we’re done it’ll be time for you to go.”

Dean lolled his head on the cabinets so that he could look at the clock on the microwave.  It was 3:30.  Where had the day gone?  And why had he spent the whole time baking brownies with his dom rather than grabbing his ankles and thanking him for his spanking and asking for another?  He really needed to find out if what they were doing was typical or not for a full time d/s relationship.  Unfortunately the only person he could ask was Gabriel and he just couldn’t bring himself to ask the man about anything that involved his brother—step or otherwise.

Castiel nudged his leg with a foot.  “Come on, up.”

Dean struggled to his feet, his left nipple still smarting, and could barely focus as he completed the tasks Castiel asked of him.  They stacked the bundles in a medium sized Rubbermaid container, and then arranged the cupcakes carefully on top of a piece of cardboard separating the two layers.  Castiel cautiously put the lid on, ensuring that the tops of the cupcakes wouldn’t get squashed.  Then he carried the container to the front door and Dean wondered exactly what he was going to do with it while he got dressed.  Once his collar was securely stored, he picked up his wallet and keys from the table and turned to Castiel.  The man smiled at him.

“I know we’ll be off the clock at that point, but would you be so kind as to deliver these to the young lady across the hall?”

Dean raised an eyebrow.

“Her high school club is having a bake sale to raise money for them to be able to afford to go to the state championships.”

“And you…volunteered to bake over one hundred and fifty items for her?  Are you some kind of bleeding heart do-gooder or something?”

Castiel shrugged a shoulder.  “I knew her from before…well.  From before.”

Dean nodded.  He wasn’t even sure if he was curious about the “before” anymore.  Whatever it had been had fucked with Castiel’s head good.  Dean had enough of his own problems that he didn’t feel the need to find out what kind of fucked up shit other people had to live through.

“Thank you for helping me today, Dean.  I think everything turned out okay.  Sweet at least, which is all kids care about.  I think I prefer the salt of your skin, though.”

Dean made a face and scoffed at the stupid declaration.  He also turned around quickly and reached for the doorknob while balancing the box on his knee lest Castiel see how red his face was turning.  Dean walked out the door and Castiel gingerly upended the Ziploc bag with his shoes in it and let them fall to the hallway floor.

“See you tomorrow.”

Castiel shut the door.  Dean frowned and walked over to the neighbor’s door.  It would probably go smoother if Castiel stayed at his door to explain things, but he knew better than to go knock on the man’s door and disrupt whatever his afternoon schedule entailed.  Dean thumped on the door with his foot and strummed his fingers on the box of goodies until the door swung open revealing a well-built man with a wary look on his face.  It was the guy with the grocery bags from two days ago.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“Yeah, hi, uh…these are for the girl with the bake sale?”

The man’s face scrunched up into a protective father scowl.

“They’re from Castiel!” Dean quickly said.  He awkwardly hooked a thumb in the direction of Castiel’s door.  “He made them for your daughter’s bake sale?”

He wished he could stop sounding like he was asking the guy questions.  The man relaxed slightly and turned to the interior of the condominium.

“Honey!  Can you come here a minute?”

Dean stood awkwardly under the man’s careful watch for thirty seconds before they were joined by a cute teenager with curly blonde hair.  She smiled when she saw Dean.

“Hi.  What’s up, Dad?”

“Did you bother Mr. Novak about the bake sale?”

“Oh!  Are those for me?” she asked, stepping forward to relieve Dean of the box.

“Uh, yeah.  Brownies and cookies and cupcakes…and stuff.”

“That’s great!  Thank you so much!  Are you like, a nurse or something?”

“What?” Dean asked, caught off guard by the question and feeling even more awkward.

“Well, I know Mr. Novak has, like, you know, agoraphobia or something and can’t like do things on his own.  So, I didn’t know if you were like some kind of assistant or…”

She trailed off, obviously expecting a legitimate reason for why he was delivering baked goods from the crazy recluse across the hall.  A reason that didn’t involve the fact that he let the man lick brownie batter off his shoulder blades while he was cutting up lemon bars.

“Uh…something like that.”

“Why did you bother him?” the father cut in.  “I told you to leave him alone.”

“And I did!  After you told me to stop.  But, by that point I’d already asked him about the bake sale.”

“I’ve been asking you to leave him alone for years.  He doesn’t like to be bothered.”

“Maybe not by you, but he likes me.  Anyway, tell him thank you for these!  We’re going to sell them during lunch tomorrow at school.  We figured we’re more likely to get money from desperate school kids needing good tasting food than strangers on the sidewalk outside a grocery store.”

Dean smiled.  “Good thinking.”

“Thanks.  Okay.  Bye!”

The girl turned and left and Dean looked back at the father.  Some of his suspicion had faded away.

“So, you’re a caretaker of some kind?”

“Well…I…have a certain skill set that may help Castiel…”  He trailed off searching for more to say and then just decided to leave it at that.

“Well, that’s good then.  If he’s even willing to accept help.  For a long time he wouldn’t.  Maybe he’s on the mend.”

“You, uh, wouldn’t happen to know what happened to him, would you?”

“If he hasn’t told you, do you think he’d want someone else to?”

“Uh, no.  You’re right.  Sorry.”

“It’s okay.  It’s hard to get anything out of him.  My name’s Jim Moore.”  He offered his hand and Dean shook it.

“Dean Winchester.”  And shit.  He’d just connected his name to Castiel in semi-public.

“Nice to meet you, Dean.  Good luck with…well…that.”

“Thanks,” Dean, said genuinely appreciating the sentiment.  He had a feeling he was going to need it.

~~~

The fifth day things were off from the start.  Castiel was back into baggy clothes—this time black slacks, a button down dress shirt that had to be three sizes too big, and, oddly, a blue striped necktie—and avoiding touching him.  The bathing had been super awkward—like he was a poodle at a PetsMart.  Dean pretty much let him be his weird self, and tried to do his best to follow what few orders Castiel gave him, but it didn’t seem to have the same soothing effect on him that it had in previous days.  As the four o’clock hour approached, Dean couldn’t take the twitchy looks and touches anymore because today he couldn’t leave at four o’clock.  Today was his first twenty-four hour shift and he was expected to stay with the freak until eight the next morning.

When he came back from his last task of ordering the K-Cup packs of coffee from darkest to lightest roast, he stood behind Castiel’s chair and crossed his arms.  Castiel seemed to sense that he was back in the room and reached out a blind hand to the space Dean normally occupied.  When he didn’t find him, he turned his head and looked.  Then he turned around and saw Dean standing behind him with his arms crossed, the collar held firmly in one hand.  He was wearing the yoga pants, so it could have been more awkward if he’d been naked, but he still felt underdressed for having to break character and hold a serious conversation.  Castiel spotted the collar in his hand immediately and swallowed with some difficulty as he looked back up and met his eyes.

“What’s going on, Castiel?” Dean asked.  “You won’t touch me, you will barely look at me.  If something is wrong we need to clear the air because this isn’t ending in a few minutes.  I’m supposed to be here all night.”

“That’s it,” Castiel croaked.  Then he cleared his throat and sat up straighter, looking more composed than he had all day.  “It’s the fact that this is your first twenty-four hour shift.  It has been some time since one of my trial subs made it to the twenty-four hour shift.  You’ll be spending the night and I guess I’m…”

He trailed off and nothing could stop the amused smirk curling one side of Dean’s lips.

“You nervous, Castiel?”

“ _No_.”

Dean grinned.  He was a terrible liar.

“You want a distraction, Castiel?” he asked, voice soft and sultry.

Castiel swallowed again, and then nodded.

Dean fastened the collar back around his neck and lowered himself to his knees.  He put his arms behind his back and clasped his wrist with one hand.

“What can I do for you, sir?”

Dean enjoyed watching Castiel’s face as he could see the man going over various scenarios in his mind.  Then he put out one finger.

“Wait here.”

Then Castiel was up and out of the room, leaving Dean alone in mild confusion.  Part of him wondered if Castiel had come up with a way to distract himself that didn’t involve Dean at all.  Only a couple of minutes passed, but it felt like an eternity when he didn’t know what was going on.  Then he heard him come back into the room.  One hand smoothed over his shoulder and massaged the muscle for a moment, and then he could sense that Castiel knelt down behind him.  His hand was pulled off his wrist and he got the hint that he needed to move his hands out the way, so he placed them on his thighs.  Hands pushed the yoga pants over his butt, down his thighs, and to his knees.  A knee and hand got him to spread his legs apart and Dean bit his lip in anticipation.  Part of him thought he would finally get to feel Castiel tonight, but another part told him not to get his hopes up.

The familiar sound of a cap snapping open made his ears perk up.  Lube.  Then the cap closed, the bottle hit the floor, and a finger swiped through his crack and over his hole.  Dean gasped and went rigid.  A hand landed on his shoulder immediately, slippery with lube on the middle finger.

“Dean, are you okay?”

“Y-yes.  Sorry.  That wasn’t pain or discomfort.  I was just…um…”

“Really excited to have me inside you?”

Dean ducked his head and Castiel chuckled.  The finger returned.

“Why do you want me inside you so much, Dean?”

“Because—”  He cut off as he felt the soft, warm pad of Castiel’s middle finger moving over and over his entrance.

“Because?”

“Because I want…I like getting fucked, okay?  So what.”

“No, Dean, why do you want _me_?”

Dean shivered as the finger just started to press in.  “Your cock is beautiful.  And you promised you’d come in me.  I’ve never felt that before.”

“Never?”

“Always used condoms.”

“What a good boy you are.”

“Cautious.”

The tip of Cas' finger slipped inside.  Dean hummed and bit his lip, spreading his knees against the confines of the yoga pants.

“Unfortunately, Dean, you won’t get my cock tonight.”

Dean grunted in annoyance.

“But, trust me, I think you won’t miss it once I’m through.”

Dean threw his head back when Castiel slid his finger all the way inside.  It didn’t hurt in the slightest and it certainly didn’t fill him up, but it was warm.  Almost hot.  Not like a dildo.  And it could go so much farther than his own fingers.  Castiel gave a few shallow pumps of his hand, and then worked in a second finger and slid it all the way in.

“You fuck yourself with dildos, Dean?”

Dean nodded, balling his hands into fists against his thighs.

“You should stop.  You don’t need them.  Not anymore.”

Castiel had no authority to tell him what to do outside of their arrangement, but he nodded in agreement.  Castiel twisted his fingers a bit, prodding around the perimeter of his prostate—giving him the ghost of the kind of pleasure he knew a direct hit could give him.  Then Castiel removed his hand.

“I’m going to use a toy on you Dean, but I don’t want you to come.  For a while.  Do you think you’ll need a cock ring, or can you do it yourself?”

He honestly wasn’t sure when it came to his control around Castiel, but he nodded and huffed out, “I can do it.”

Castiel kissed his neck and collar, and then he felt the blunt head of a silicone toy at his entrance.  It wasn’t very big, perhaps slightly larger than Castiel’s two fingers, and it slid in effortlessly.  Dean felt Castiel adjust the toy, brushing it over his prostate sending pleasure galloping through his veins.

“Tell me when I hit my mark,” Castiel said.

“Back to the left.  A little back…there.  Oh right there.”

Then Castiel moved his hand and the toy settled into place.  Now Dean could feel that there was a second piece that curved down with a bulbous head that sat snugly against his perineum.  He could feel it now—the toy was designed to hit his e-zones from the inside and out.  Surely it wasn’t—

Dean jerked and let out a small yelp when the toy buzzed to life.  The vibrator relentlessly stimulated him from both sides and Dean’s mouth fell open as he was assaulted with more contact to his prostate than he’d ever had in his life.  His hands clenched into tighter fists.  It was so fucking weird—the prostate made him feel the possibility of orgasm, but nothing was touching his dick and his dick was bobbing in front of him like a sad puppy that no one was paying attention to.  Dean squeezed his eyes shut.

“Shit, Jesus.  Fuck.”

It felt like he should be coming, he wanted to be coming, but goddamnit he’d never come untouched before in his life (a single flick to his cockhead notwithstanding) and this stupid toy didn’t seem to know or care.  Then he suddenly remembered he wasn’t supposed to come until Castiel said he could anyway.  He focused on that, but had to fall forward onto his hands, his hips pushing his ass back against nothing.  That feeling of orgasm was still right there, but his cock strained uselessly for some kind of contact with…anything.  Then, mercifully, the toy’s vibration petered down to a mild hum.  Dean relaxed, panting slightly on all fours.

“The best thing about you, Dean, is how much you feel your pleasure.  You’re so physical, so responsive.  It’s amazing to watch.”

“Th-thanks.”

Castiel popped him on the left ass cheek.  “Hush.  Now stand up.  We have some chores to do.”

Dean looked at him over his shoulder incredulously.  Castiel smacked his right butt cheek and Dean jerked and then hissed as the toy shifted in him.

“Stand up.”

Dean did as he was told.

“Can you feel it?”

Dean nodded.

“Not just the toy, the vibrations?”

Dean considered.  He could sense that the toy wasn’t turned off, but he couldn’t feel it moving either.  He shook his head.  Castiel push a button on the remote in his hand.  The buzzing increased just enough for Dean to feel it where his rim was stretched around the toy.  He nodded.

“Excellent.  Let’s go then.  Oh, leave the pants here.”

Castiel had him dust all the blue temperature light tubes in the front rooms.  He wouldn’t give him a stepstool or a chair, just a Swiffer extender that was only long enough for Dean to reach the bulbs with it if he stood on his tiptoes.  Then he had to swipe clean the baseboard.  In small increments he worked his way around the rooms, first stretching up, and then bending over, the toy pulsing inside him at different speeds.  His cock never seemed to get the memo that nothing good was going to happen for him anytime soon, and stubbornly stayed hard and pointing north.  The whole head was wet with precome and he knew he’d dripped onto the carpet a couple of times, but he didn’t bother to tell Castiel.  He was afraid he’d make him get on all fours and scrub the stains out.  He glanced over his shoulder when they were in the living room, Castiel was watching him intently with the remote in one hand and the other on his chin and lips like he was contemplating the nature of the universe.

“You’re probably getting off on me cleaning more than anything else,” Dean said and turned back around to continue his work.

The toy flared to full speed and Dean let out an undignified squeak and leaned against the wall.

“Oh, oh…oh, geezus.”

He concentrated on his control and the way his fingertips pressed against the builder’s beige paint as he fought against the orgasmic waves radiating out from his groin.  He still didn’t think he could come untouched, but his body’s desperation to try just might kill him.  He managed to compartmentalize the sensations, and for one shining moment he was in control—and then Castiel draped himself over Dean’s body.

“How does it feel, Dean?”

Dean’s hypersensitive skin sparked under the drag of Castiel’s clothes, his skin where his hands rested on his arms, his breath as it tickled the back of his neck.

“Nn—ngh.”

“What was that?”

“Good.  Feels good.”

“Yeah?”  Castiel kissed his neck.  “Nothing better, right?”

“Don—don’t know.”

“Why not?”

“Fuck me.  Feel you.”

Castiel licked and then kissed the spot behind his ear.  “I said not tonight.”

Dean whined and shifted his hips back so that he could rub his ass against the front of Castiel’s pants.  Castiel pulled away completely.

“No!  Shit,” Dean cursed and trembled against the wall.

The vibrating died back down and Dean sighed and relaxed minutely.

“Castiel, please…”

“We’ll get there.  But we have one more wall to go.”

Dean gritted his teeth and just barely refrained from raising his hand and flicking the guy off.  He stood up and meticulously began dusting the bulbs and baseboards again, the toy offering him no relief.  When he was done, Castiel made him stand in the kitchen while he prepared dinner.  The remote disappeared into Castiel’s pocket, but every now and then he’d sneak a click up three, back down one.  Dean swayed on his feet and looked down at his poor purpling cockhead.  He could hammer nails with the wretched thing.

He groaned low and long in the back of his throat.  The vibrator kicked up a notch.

“Hush.”

Dean clenched his jaw shut and put his hands in his hair, tugging on it painfully and swaying again.  He knew he wasn’t in danger of disobeying Castiel—he just couldn’t come untouched—but that meant that he wouldn’t accidentally receive any relief.  He’d take any punishment Castiel wanted if he could just come.  And he could.  He could call off the scene, he could take himself in hand and just go for it.  But, fuck it all, he wanted to see where this was going.  He wanted to show Castiel how good he could be.

Castiel browned some ground chuck and added Hamburger Helper to it.  If this arrangement was going to be long term, Dean was going to need to make an adjustment to the contract.  They’d probably need to add a whole new section called “Food” and Hamburger Helper would be the first thing on the list of forbidden items.  Castiel served up two plates of the stuff, and despite his snobbery, his mouth watered.  Dean followed Castiel to the dining room and watched him put one plate at the head of the table and the other at the spot where he always saw Castiel sit.  Castiel sat down and put his napkin in his lap.  Then he indicated the other chair with his hand.

“Join me?”

Dean’s jaw dropped.  Was he fucking kidding?  Even if the toy had been a normal plug it would have been a little uncomfortable.  There was no way he could sit down without driving the thing into his body in not particularly pleasant ways.

“No?  Well, I won’t have you standing and eating.  That’s undignified.”

Dean scowled and crossed his arms over his chest.

“If you won’t sit at the table like a person, you can kneel at my feet and I can feed you, I suppose.”

Dean inhaled deeply.  This hadn’t been on the kinks list.  He met Castiel’s eyes and gave him a steely stare.

“You don’t have to, of course.  Just let me know if you get hungry.”

Dean looked away from him and tried not to smell the meat and tomato and cheese scented warm air wafting up from the table.  His stomach growled.  He glanced over and found Castiel taking a bite of his dinner and chewing it slowly—savoring it, but certainly not for the flavor.  Dean lasted about halfway through Castiel’s dinner (and he had to be the slowest fucking eater on the planet) before he walked around the chair and knelt on the floor beside Castiel.  The toy shifted inside him and he hissed when his cock brushed against Castiel’s pants leg.  Castiel picked up Dean’s fork, got a manageable bite on it, and then offered it to Dean.  He didn’t even bother to try to use his hands; he knew Castiel didn’t want that.  So he opened his mouth and let Castiel feed him.  It needed salt.  He had half a mind to tell Castiel that, but he didn’t want to risk the man deciding to stop feeding him.  Or worse—call off the scene.  As much as he was afraid Castiel might not let him come tonight at all, the thought of Castiel being disappointed in him created a hollow feeling in his chest.

Dean was forced to eat at Castiel’s pace, which was a big change from his usual need to wolf down food in order to get to work or get Sam off to school on time.  It was nice, he supposed, giving his body a chance to process the meal naturally rather than like a snake that swallowed something whole.  That is, of course, if one ignored the constant vibrating menace attacking one’s prostate from inside and out.  Dean wasn’t quite capable of ignoring that last part and felt the lack of skin to skin contact as Castiel fed him like a crawl of static electricity on his skin.  It made him squirm, which made the toy move in him, which made him squirm more and whimper, which made Castiel hush him gently like a misbehaving child.  He was going to reach a breaking point eventually and he had no idea what would happen when he did.

When Castiel finished, he washed the dishes and made Dean dry them.  Then he took them to the bathroom and they both brushed their teeth.  Bending over to rinse out his mouth nearly brought Dean to his knees.  When he managed to recover himself, after leaning heavily on the counter for a few moments, he saw Castiel watching him with an expression of mild amusement.  A vision of throwing Castiel to the floor and fucking him until he could get the relief he needed swirled through his thoughts.  Castiel’s smile grew a little bigger as he watched the expression on Dean’s face.

“Come with me,” he said softly, and walked out of the bathroom.

Dean didn’t know if he was deliberately using the word “come” to be an ass or not, but he straightened and walked stiffly after the man.  He wasn’t certain but it may be close to two and half hours that he’d had his erection.  He couldn’t believe the standard was four hours before needing to be concerned enough to consult a doctor; he was dying.

Castiel led them to the office, completely passing up the play room and Dean closed his eyes in a brief moment of despair, and knelt down on the fuzzy pillow when he was instructed to.

“Spread your feet apart, but leave your knees close together, yes, just like that, now sit back.”

Dean moaned softly in the back of his throat as he settled back and felt the toy shift when his ass spread out.  He rolled his head on his neck and tried to concentrate on anything but the maddening sensations in his body—and murder.  He really tried not to think about murdering one blue-eyed terror.  Castiel’s hand caressed his jaw and he leaned into the touch, his lips laying a weak kiss on the palm as it passed by his mouth.  Then Castiel turned to his computer and began working.

Dean knew that if he could just calm his mind and concentrate on something—meditate he supposed—he’d be able to handle the toy’s stimulation.  As time wore on he found it to be harder and harder to maintain his concentration.  That’s when he realized the speed of the vibrations were steadily increasing.  He couldn’t get used to the feeling because it kept changing and intensifying.  The toy had to be going full speed by the time he grabbed a moment of clarity and realized he’d moved forward and was pressed against Castiel’s shin, his head rubbing the man’s thigh seeking any sort of contact, his back constantly arching as he tried to work his hips into feeling something other than the constant buzzing of the toy.  God damn he must literally look like a fucking cat in heat.

“Castiel,” he pleaded.  “Please, I’ve been so good.  Please, please…”

“Get in my lap.”

Dean was torn between the need to obey with the promise of relief and knowing that when he moved everything would get worse.  He struggled to his feet and barely managed to move enough to collapse on Castiel’s lap, straddling him and whimpering again as he was spread even wider and the toy shifted.  He wrapped his arms around Castiel’s neck and rubbed his face against the side of his head.

“Castiel, please…come on, please…”

“You can come whenever you like, Dean.”

Dean eagerly reached for his cock, but Castiel commanded him to leave his hands where they were.  Dean tried to groan but it came out closer to a sob.

“I c-can’t…please, can’t come untouched.  Cas, please, fuck, don’t leave me like this.”

Dean squirmed and writhed in his lap, feeling so close, so fucking close.  Precome dribbled steadily from his slit, but all Castiel did was leave his hands lightly on his waist and watch him.  Dean bounced in his lap, trying to get the toy to shift a little bit more.

“Cas…Cas…please, I’ll do anything, just touch me.  Cas, please, oh God, please…”

He sensed Castiel moving and opened his eyes, hope flaring in his chest.  His lips parted in despair as he saw that all Castiel was doing was removing the tie from around his neck.  Then he placed the tie between Dean’s lips and tied it around the back of his head.  It wasn’t too tight, but it did pull a bit at the corners of his mouth.  Dean tipped his head back and grunted in frustration.  Then Castiel took Dean’s wrists in his hands, removed his hands from his neck, and then held them tightly behind Dean’s back.

Dean shut his eyes against the mental image of what he knew he looked like.  Completely naked on Castiel’s clothed lap, legs spread wide with a toy vibrating up his ass, arms restrained behind his back, a necktie serving as a gag, thick red collar around his throat…he opened his eyes and met Castiel’s steady gaze…

And that was it.  Dean Winchester came untouched for the first time in his life.

He was kind of aware of it.  It was a mixture of ecstasy and relief but also a lingering trace of the frustration that had been plaguing him for hours.  He wasn’t aware if he screamed or was silent; he wasn’t aware if he was writhing or stiff; he wasn’t even sure if his eyes were still open.  What he eventually became aware of was that he was slumped forward in Castiel’s lap, his cheek resting on the man’s shoulder, and a gentle hand was stroking through his sweaty hair.

“So good,” he thought he heard someone whisper.  “You’re so perfect, Dean.  Where did you come from?”

“Lawrence,” Dean murmured, and then didn’t remember falling asleep.

When he woke up, he was on his stomach in a big, soft bed.  He was naked and someone was with him.  That someone was rubbing warm, sweet smelling oiling onto his back and shoulders, giving him a much appreciated massage.

“Are you awake?” Castiel asked.

Dean nodded his head.

“You should drink some water.  Do you want it now, or when you turn over for the front?”

“Definitely not now,” Dean mumbled.

Castiel chuckled softly and he felt the brush of lips against one his shoulders.  A shiver ran through his body, but he wasn’t remotely cold.

“Are you okay?” Castiel asked softly.  “Did that go too far?”

Dean considered it for a moment, and then replied, “I wanted to see where it was going, but I would have safe worded out if it went too far.”

“Did you like where it went?”

Dean turned his face partially into the pillow under his head to cover his blush.  “I did.  But…it’s not a place I’d want to visit every day.”

“Of course not,” Castiel said, his hands working out the tension in his lower back.

“Did…did you enjoy it?” Dean asked tentatively.

“Oh, Dean…”  Castiel moved to lay partially next him, and Dean realized with a start that the man was naked.  “I…I couldn’t have been more pleased with you.  You gave me what I needed.”

Dean turned his head so he could look at him, his eyes trying to look down at Castiel’s body, but the pillow was mostly in the way.

“I meant, did you _enjoy_ it.”

Castiel smiled.  “You mean, did I get off?”

Dean nodded and hid his face again.

“I was aroused, Dean.  Basically all night, I was sporting an erection as long as you were.  But after you came, I needed to take care of you.  So, even though I never came, don’t think it’s because I don’t find you satisfying.”

Dean shuffled around until he was on his side.  He pushed at Castiel’s hip to get him to roll partially to his side as well.  His penis was soft and flaccid.  Dean frowned.  Castiel moved forward and kissed him, distracting him and rolling him onto his back.  He settled partway on top of him and kissed him languidly and possessively.

“Don’t worry about my needs,” Castiel said between kisses.  “You’ve already fulfilled them.”

Dean frowned into the kiss, which made Castiel smile.

“Keep frowning and we’ll have to discuss the other matter.”

“What matter?” Dean grumped.

“You called me Cas again.”

Dean’s eyes flew open and he pulled back.

“Are you going to fire me?”

Castiel blinked in surprise, and then his face fell to be somewhat melancholic.  “I can’t possibly answer that question as an absolute.”

Dean felt an unpleasant pressure in his chest.  He hated that this arrangement was so tenuous.

“Are you going to fire me for calling you Cas?”

“No,” Castiel reassured him quickly.  He smoothed his hand over Dean’s hair.  “No, rest easy tonight.  Drink some water, and then we can sleep.  Okay?”

Dean nodded.  He managed to prop himself up enough to drink the tepid water from the glass on the nightstand.  He wondered how long he’d been out if the water had completely adjusted to room temperature.  Then he settled back into the comfortable bed and Castiel lay beside him.  They were touching, but not squashed together.  Dean fell asleep easily.

~~~

When Dean awoke the next morning, he felt a little sore, but it was definitely the good kind of sore.  He stretched and yawned, his arms reaching across the mattress.  He appeared to be alone.  He opened his eyes and confirmed that Castiel wasn’t beside him any longer.  Then he faced forward and let out an alarmed, “Jesus!” as he started, and then relaxed.

Castiel sat, fully clothed in jeans and a T-shirt, on the wide footboard, staring at him.

“That’s a little creepy, du—Castiel.”

Castiel just tilted his head slightly.  “How would you feel about adding somnophilia to the kinks section of the contract?”

“Uh…”  Dean scratched his chest.  “I’m not saying no, but perhaps we can revisit it at a later date.”

“Okay.”

Dean smiled his picking-up-chicks-at-a-bar smile.  “I wouldn’t mind if you jerked off while watching me sleep though.”

Castiel averted his eyes and looked…sheepish?

“Oh, my God.  You already did.”

Castiel made a slightly apologetic face.

Dean smiled and nudged him with a bare toe.  “You perv.”

“I was a little…pent up from yesterday.”

“You brought that on yourself.”

“I did.”  Castiel leaned forward onto the bed and crawled up the length of Dean’s body.  He hovered over him, their lips close, but not touching.  “And you know what you brought on yourself?”

“W-what?”

“Punishment.  For calling me Cas.”

Dean swallowed.

“And we have to do it now because you’re off duty in an hour.”  Castiel hopped up and patted Dean’s leg.  “Get moving.”

Dean grumbled but obeyed, stretching out his muscles, and realizing that he felt as good as he did this morning because of the massage Castiel had given him the previous night.  It probably also helped that he’d gotten in a good long, deep sleep.  He hadn’t had one of those in a while.  He was sorely tempted to call and check on Sam—he still felt a little uncomfortable with leaving the kid to fend for himself if their father came home drunk, but he usually stayed gone over the weekends.  He knew he’d be home in a couple of hours, so he figured the squirt could handle himself.  He’d be sixteen in another month anyway.  And asking for a car.  Maybe with his new salary, he’d be able to give it to him.

Even with the time constraint, Castiel still made them brush their teeth after stopping in the bathroom so Dean could relieve himself.  If nothing else this arrangement would probably make his dentist happy.  And had he paid their insurance this month?  The Affordable Health Care Act had saved his ass for sure.  None of his previous employments had offered health care as part of its compensation, but the past couple of years he’d been able to make sure Sam had visited the doctor and the dentist and the eye doctor just because they could.  It was the first time he felt like he’d actually succeeded in doing something right for his brother.

“Hey.”

Dean’s eyes refocused and he found himself looking into Castiel’s concerned eyes.  His hand was cupping his cheek.

“Are you okay?  Where were you?”

“Oh, sorry.  I’m here.  I’m yours.”

Castiel’s lips parted and his grip tightened slightly on Dean’s face.  Then he licked his lips and stepped back.

“Yes.  You are.  Follow me.”

Dean followed Castiel down the hall past the play room and the office to the punishment room.  He huffed out his displeasure at the pink room and the kitty cats hanging from rope giving him puppy dog eyes.

“Why is it like this?”

“I change it for every sub depending on their personalities.  I’ll probably change it for you eventually, but considering your reaction to it, I might keep it.”

Dean scowled at him and Castiel indicated the table and chair that were now in the middle of the room.  Dean wondered what time Castiel had gotten up this morning to set this all up.  The table was covered in a white table cloth that hung to the floor and there was a camera set up on a tripod that faced the chair.  Dean sat in the chair and as he scooted up to the table, realized there were two partitions that forced his legs apart so that when he scooted up to the table, he wasn’t able to close his legs.

“I want to film this, Dean.  May I?”

“What are we doing?”

“Something I used to do with my female subs, but I’ve always wanted to try with a man.  Have you heard of the performance art piece known as ‘Hysteria?’”

Dean shook his head.

“Until recently, female orgasm wasn’t considered to be real, and that a woman experiencing sexual pleasure was in a fit of hysteria.  In order to combat the stigma against female sexuality, an artist in New York filmed several women reading passages from books as they sat at a table.  And someone was underneath it stimulating them with a vibrator.  The point was to read until they couldn’t any longer.”

“Because they…came?”

“Yes.”

“And…you want to…”

“I want to film you reading while I give you a blowjob.  This isn’t about orgasm denial, it’s simply about you being able to hold off as long as you comfortably can.  We’re doing it as your punishment, but I would like permission to film it.”

“Isn’t it already being filmed because of your cameras?”

“The security cameras run on a closed system that overwrites itself every seventy-two hours.  This camera…will enable me to keep it indefinitely.”

Dean nodded, and then searched Castiel’s eyes.  He really didn’t think the guy would try to hock it on the Internet, and he was curious enough to wonder what he might look like.

“Can I watch it?  Later?” Dean asked.

Castiel nodded.  “We can watch it together.”

Dean nodded too.  “Okay then.  I consent.”

“Thank you.  Let’s begin.”  Castiel turned on the camera and then walked over to the dresser and picked up the two books sitting atop.  “Machiavelli or Hawking?”

“So, crushing people’s wills or physics?”

Castiel nodded.

“Is there a difference?”

Castiel smiled and put down the Machiavelli and brought over Hawking.  “Turn to any page you like and begin whenever you’re ready.”

Then Castiel knelt down and slipped under the table.  Dean could feel the air move on his bare skin as Castiel settled into place, but even looking down he couldn’t see him because the table hid his lap completely.  His instinctively tried to draw his legs together, but the partition stopped him.  He shifted in his seat and was a little annoyed to find that he was already in the beginning stages of getting hard.  If he was going to be punished, he at least wanted Castiel to work for it.  Although, getting a blowjob from the man didn’t really seem like much of a punishment.  Dean waited for a few moments, but Castiel didn’t touch him.  So, he flipped open the book to a random page and began reading.

“‘The second law of thermodynamics has a rather different status than that of other laws of science, such as Newton’s law of gravity, for example, because it does not hold always, just in the vast majority of—c-casessss…’”

Dean inhaled as Castiel’s lips placed a gentle kiss on the head of his penis.  His eyes glanced up at the camera.  Okay.  This was going to be a little weird.

“‘The probability of all the gas molecules in our first box being found, mm, in one half of the box at a later time in many millions of—ah—millions to one, but it can happen.’”

Dean closed his eyes for a moment as Castiel’s lips closed around the head of his cock.  He sucked gently on the tip and Dean’s fingers clenched around the book.  His erection grew, filling Castiel’s mouth and Dean bit his lip.  Then Castiel pulled off.

“Keep reading.”

Dean opened his eyes and shook himself.  How pathetic.  They hadn’t even been at this a full minute yet.  He concentrated on the book.  Where had he been?  Oh, yes…

“‘However, if one has a black hole around, there seems to be a rather easier way of vio—lating! the second law: just throw some mmmatter with a lot of entropy, such as a box of gas, down the black hole.’”

Dean sucked in air between his teeth as Castiel’s teeth grazed ever so slightly over his sensitive skin.  He was a rare breed who actually liked a little teeth with his blowjobs and hoped Castiel would figure that out.

“‘The total entropy of matter outside the black hole would go down.’”

Dean smiled as Castiel slid all the way down.  He ran his bottom lip through his teeth and continued.

“‘One could, of course, still say that the total entropy, including the entropy inside the black hole…’ Oh…ah.  Anh.  Nmn.  Um.  ‘Has not gone down—but since there is no way to look inside the black hole, we cannot see how much entropy the matter inside it has’—Jesus, I can’t concentrate on this!”

Dean tried to snap his legs together but couldn’t.  Castiel was still deepthroating him, and a hand started to massage his balls.  He felt a pinch on his left ankle.  _Keep reading_.

Dean desperately searched for where he had left off, black holes or entropy…

“‘It would be nice’—oh, yeah, that’s nice, fuck.  Um.  ‘It would be nice, then, if there was some feature of the black hole by which observers outside the black hole could tell its entropy, and which would increase whenever matter carryingentropyfellintotheblackhole.’ Ah!”

Dean’s hands clenched tightly around the book again and he scrunched up against his inability to close his legs.  Castiel’s head was bobbing now, quickly up and down; one hand was stroking the base of his dick and the other still fondled his balls.  It was smooth and flawless, but every now and then there was the hint of teeth.  Jesus, it was like someone had given Castiel a copy of _The Complete Guide to Blowing Dean Winchester’s Mind_.

Dean licked his lips and looked back at the book; his hands were shaking a bit.

“F-following the discovery, described above,’ Oh, God, Cas.  ‘A research student at Princeton named Jacob Beken-Beken-stein suggested—’ Ohh…oh, yes, _fuck_ yes…‘that the area of the event horizon would go up, so that the sum of the entropy of matter outside black holes and the area of the horizons—’”

Dean’s jaw fell open as Castiel pulled back and suckled on the head.

“‘Would never go down,’” Dean sighed as he came with a fulfilling rush of pleasure.

Dean closed his eyes, the book forgotten on the table, and he breathed through the aftershocks of his orgasm.  When he opened his eyes the camera was still trained on him, filming every moment.  He blushed and wondered why he’d been curious to see the result.  He was sure he looked like a goober.  Nobody’s O-face was sexy, not really.

Castiel slipped out from under the table and stood beside it.  He pulled the book close to him and glanced down at the page.

“Really, Dean?  One paragraph?”

“Fuck off,” Dean said pleasantly and leaned back against his chair.

Castiel smiled.  “Well, I suppose the upside to you finishing so quickly is that we have time for breakfast.  Are you hungry?”

“Starving.”

“Alright, come on then.”

Castiel walked to the camera to turn it off as Dean stood up and gingerly put his legs back together.  He walked over to his dom.

“Castiel…”

“Yes?”

“Are you hungry?  Or did you already eat?”

Castiel’s head tilted for a moment in confusion, then he let out a small huff of laughter.  He pulled Dean forward by the back of his neck and kissed him, leaving his mouth open to him.  Dean swept his tongue into Castiel’s mouth, and the moment he tasted himself, he groaned and wrapped his arms around Castiel’s waist, pulling him closer.  Dean pulled Castiel’s tongue into his mouth and sucked on it to taste the flavor of himself in Castiel’s mouth.  He wasn’t done, but Castiel pushed him back gently.

“Come on.  We don’t have that much time.”

Dean followed Castiel to the kitchen and felt—lighter than he usually did.  As Dean watched Castiel scramble some eggs for them, he couldn’t help but think about the impetus for his “punishment.”

“You said you used to do that with your female subs…did you find out about the art thingie or did one of them suggest it?”

“One of them suggested it.  It wasn’t a punishment for her; just a kink she added to the contract.”

“Did you use a vibrator?”

“No.  I used my mouth.”

Dean licked his lips.  The thought of those lips eating out a pussy wasn’t entirely unappealing.  Not that Dean had much of a voyeurism kink either way, but…

“Did you record your sessions with her?”

“Yes.”

Dean fidgeted.  “Could I see one?”

“Well, I would have to ask her permission for that.”

“Oh, right.  Of course.  Never mind.”

“We parted amicably, and we still have a good relationship.”

“Why aren’t you still with her then?” Dean mumbled, realizing he sounded jealous.

“Well…Hannah and I did enjoy each other’s company.  And she did enjoy following orders.  A bit like you, but not nearly as masochistic.”

Dean frowned.  _Hannah_.  He was pretty sure her frame was on a shelf higher than his at the moment.

“But we got to talking one day and realized we both knew the same person.  And this person was my great uncle, who was siblings with my grandfather and who was siblings with her grandfather, which made our grandparents siblings, which made us third cousins.”

Dean let out a burst of laughter.  And then he giggled and then he started laughing uncontrollably.  “Oh, my God.  You banged your cousin?!”

“Third cousin,” Castiel made a face as he spooned eggs onto two plates.  “Legally we could marry, so it’s not that close of a relationship.  But, we still felt it made things a little too awkward and ended our arrangement.”

Dean’s laughter subsided to more giggles—chuckles—and he said, “Thank goodness Sam recently did a genealogy project for school.  There were definitely no Novaks in the family line.”

“Thank goodness indeed,” Castiel said dryly.  “Come to the table.”

Castiel walked to the dining room and set down two plates and two forks.  He sat in his chair, but before Dean could sit in his, Castiel tsked at him and indicated the floor.  Dean’s eyes widened in surprise.

“But…I can sit in the chair; I won’t stand up and eat.”

“Hm, you called me Cas again.”

“Isn’t that what the punishment was for?”

Castiel’s smile was quite boyish.  “You called me Cas during the punishment.”

“Son of a bitch.”

Castiel pointed to the floor again and Dean knelt next to him.  He accepted his bite of eggs with a scowling pout.

“Needs more salt,” he grumbled.


	5. Chapter 5

Dean had to park the Dart three blocks away from his building again, so he took the time to pull up the banking app on his phone as he walked.  He loved apps.  When he opened his account, expecting to see a dismal balance, he was surprised to find that he was more flush with cash than he had been in a while.  He cocked his head as he looked at the direct deposit of $1685.45 from a CSN, LLC.  He was inside the lobby before he figured out that that was his payment for the week with Castiel.  Sixteen hundred was what was left of twenty-five hundred after taxes.  Damn.  He supposed it was still better than the eight hundred he averaged working at Heavenly Host and Sweet Things.  And despite the rocky start, he’d definitely enjoyed the work with Castiel more.

Dean bounded up the stairs doing mental math.  If he got this much every week, after rent, bills, groceries, and a few odds and ends, he could put a thousand dollars into Sam’s college fund and still have money left over for fun things.  Taking this job was the best idea he’d ever had.  Never mind it hadn’t been his idea.

Dean entered the apartment and found Sam already awake, eating Froot Loops on the couch and watching some sort of anime battle bot show.  The kid couldn’t get up on time for school, but on Saturdays, when he could sleep in, he was awake and searching for food before the sun was up.

“Hey, squirt.  Was everything okay last night?  Didn’t get scared by yourself?” he ruffled Sam’s hair and the teenager growled at him and batted his hand away.

“I was _fine_.  Gosh.  Where do you work now anyway that they keep you overnight?  Wal-Mart?  They lock you in or something?”

“Nope.  Friday nights are when the deliveries are made and they pay people overtime to stay through the night to do inventory.”

“You seem pretty perky for someone who hasn’t slept.”

Dean hesitated as he pulled the orange juice from the refrigerator.  “Uh, second wind, I guess.  Did Dad come home?”

Sam turned around to look at him over the back of the couch.  “Nope.  And everything was fine.  Me being by myself.  So, if that’s what’s making you…I mean, like…we can move somewhere.  Where it’s just us.”

Dean poured a glass of juice and glanced at Sam.

“We can’t abandon him.”

“Exactly.  _We_ can’t abandon him.  He’s the father.  He abandoned us.  We don’t owe him anything.”

“We owe him more than you know, Sam.  Besides, you don’t turn your back on family.”

“But he—”

“Sam, I know you and he don’t see eye to eye on a lot of things—”  Sam scoffed.  “But, I can’t abandon him anymore than I could abandon you, okay?  That’s just the way I’m built.”

“To be a martyr?  Nobody’s built like that; that’s a choice.”

Dean turned away from Sam to hide his face as he put the orange juice back in the fridge.  He swallowed thickly and suddenly didn’t feel like drinking anything.  Then two skinny arms threw themselves around his waist.  Dean turned a little to pull Sammy in closer.

“I don’t know why you choose to take care of us.  Neither of us are worth it,” Sam said, his words almost unintelligible since his face was buried into Dean’s shoulder.  He was getting taller again.

“You’re worth it, Sam.  You’re a pain in the ass, but you’re worth it.  I need you just as much as you need me.”

Sam nodded and sniffed.  Then Dean glanced around their kitchen and saw Papa John looking at them from the TV in the living room.  He gently shoved Sam off.

“Alright, alright, we done here?”

Sam nodded.  “So…you’re free today?  We can do something?  Or do you need to sleep?”

“Nah, I’m okay.  And I got paid today, so we’ve got some money to blow.”

“Really?”

“Yep.  I told you, I’m making more now.”

Sam grinned.

“Well, I have to run into work really quick from four to eight, but I’m free otherwise, and I’m completely free tomorrow.”

“Oh!  Let’s see _Assassin Face Crunch_!  My friends and I have been wanting to see it, but it’s rated R.  But you’re over eighteen.”

“Yes, I am, but I’m not paying for your friends.”

Sam waved a hand.  “They aren’t even invited.  This is our trip.”

Dean smiled.  “Yeah, okay.  Sounds good.”

Sam whooped and ran for his room.

“Sam, the movie theater doesn’t open until noon.”

“Oh, right.”

Dean grinned and took a sip of his orange juice.  What a nerd.

~~~

It was a little odd to be waiting on the other side of Castiel’s door at four o’clock, but he was excited to see what Castiel thought he could do in four hours.  He wondered if this four hour Saturday evening time frame had been arranged by Gabriel so that he’d have someone to check up on his brother.  He hoped that meant Castiel wouldn’t be churlish about the Saturday evening visits, although he’d seemed genuine when he’d said he was looking forward to seeing Dean later.  He supposed there was only one way to find out, and knocked on the door.

A few moments later, Castiel open the door, looking frazzled and distraught.

Well, shit.

“Hey, Castiel.  Everything okay?”

“No, no, no, no.  I was supposed to be finished, but I got distracted.  I still have the project out and it’s not done.  I can’t leave it out, I can’t stop.  But it’s four o’clock and you’re here—”

“Whoa, hey, hey, Castiel.  You’re working on a project?”

“Yes.”

“And you’re not done?”

He shook his head.

“Can I help you with it?”

Castiel stared at him like a fish that was trying to recite poetry.  Then he cocked his head to the side.

“Y-yes.  I suppose you could.”

Dean smiled.  “So, I can take my shoes off and come in and help?  Would that help you?”

Castiel seemed to be thinking about it, and then he nodded.  He opened the door wider and Dean removed his shoes and stepped inside.  He placed them in a plastic bag in the footlocker, and then hesitated, not sure if he should follow the normal routine.

“We won’t have time for a bath, but if you could change into the clothes I keep for you here and wash your hands really well, that will be okay.”

Dean nodded, then glanced at Castiel.  “The collar?”

Castiel pursed his lips.  “I told you: that’s always your decision.”

Dean looked at the man, who still looked like he was about to fly off the handle at any moment.  Just behind him he could see the living room in a state of organized chaos as every single book on the bookshelves seemed to be stacked on the couches and floors.  He reached into the footlocker and retrieved the collar.  He buckled into place and looked back as Castiel.  The man’s shoulders relaxed a little bit and he nodded.

“Undress, put on your work clothes, wash your hands three times, and then come join me in the living room.”

“Yes, sir.”

Castiel stayed and watched him undress until he seemed to realize that that was what he was doing.  Then he turned and abruptly walked over to the stacks of books.  Dean smiled and hurried to obey Castiel’s orders.  When he returned to the living room, Castiel had cleared a path through the books and Dean walked carefully among the piles until he reached Castiel’s side.  He clapped his hands.

“So, what’s the plan, Stan?”

Dean flinched when Castiel turned a glare on him.  The man reached out and tweaked a nipple.  Fucking hard.

“Ow!”  He rubbed the poor thing, wincing as that had just been the regular old, unsexy kind of painful.

“No nicknames.  Now, I have these organized by weight, but there’s just no order when they’re like that.  The Romance Era is with Medieval literature, Asian language are mixed with Spanish.  It’s so disorderly, but I like knowing which books are the heaviest because it’s not necessarily the biggest books, you know?”

“Unh-huh.  Can you read…Chinese?”

“A little bit.  My Japanese is better.  Dean.  I need to figure out a system.”

“Well, why don’t you organize them by language or era, and then by weight within the category?”

“Don’t you think I thought of that already?”

“And?”

Castiel sighed.  “And it makes everything lopsided because I don’t have the same number of books in each category.  Maybe I should order more…”

Dean looked around at the, literally, hundreds of books.  “Why don’t we work with what we have for now, and then fill in gaps as we find them?”

“But what will the gaps be?  What is the order…” Castiel turned slowly in a circle.  “What is the order?”

“What’s your favorite?”

“What?”

“You can order them by your most favorite to least favorite.”

Castiel had a look on his face that wasn’t quite scandalized and not quite horror.

“Get on your knees.”

Dean dropped to his knees immediately in the circle of books.  Castiel slapped him lightly across the cheek and then pointed a finger in his face.

“Don’t you ever suggest a system of organization based on something so arbitrary ever again.”

“Yes, sir.”

Dean looked up at him from his knees and he could see Castiel’s eyes darkening with want.  His eyes dropped to his groin, and his jeans definitely looked tight.  He looked back up at Castiel.

“I don’t have time for this,” Castiel moaned softly.

Dean just kept looking up at him, licked his lips, and leaned forward.  Castiel knocked a stack of books off the coffee table and sat down on it.  Dean moved forward and pulled Castiel’s fly down.  He had his cock in hand within seconds and pumped it in his hand before licking down the length of it and back up.  Castiel’s hands buried themselves in Dean’s hair and he swallowed the man down.  Dean shivered as Castiel’s hands continued to work in his hair, his nails scratching lightly over his scalp.  Dean held onto Castiel’s hips and gave him a blowjob better than any organizational high.

“Fuck, Dean…God, I should let you do this more often.  You look beautiful like this, Dean.  You look beautiful taking me inside.”

Dean hummed his agreement and moved faster.  He wanted to pull off and tell him he’d look even more beautiful with Castiel’s dick up his ass, but he had a feeling that might get him another slap and sent to the corner or something.  Not that he would have minded the slap.  Castiel was a fucking pro.  He knew how to cup his hand so that it made a nice cracking sound and caused a little sting, but it didn’t result in a red mark or a bruise.  Maybe he could save ticking him off for another day because he definitely wondered what getting slapped around by the man would be like.  That thought made Dean waver for a moment because that was fucked up, right?  He shoved the thought away and leaned forward so that he could take Castiel in all the way to the base.

“Dean, Dean, so deep…oh…so deep…oh!  I could arrange them by how far they stick out on the shelf.  Then I can put them by language and era and whatnot, but it’ll still have the aesthetic of looking like it’s biggest and densest—oh that’ll be perfect, oh fuck yes, that’ll look so good.”  Castiel grunted and pulled on Dean’s hair.  “Off!”

Dean sat back, heartbroken that Castiel wouldn’t come in his mouth, but he did jack himself off quickly and came all over Dean’s face and neck.  Dean grabbed one of Castiel’s legs as he felt the warm spunk slide on his skin.  He was hard and leaking in his yoga pants, a wet spot clearly visible by the waistband.  Castiel’s hand raised up and smeared some come over his cheek and then hooked his thumb in his mouth, holding it open.  A glob slid down his face and into his mouth.  Dean caught it on his tongue and pushed it up to the roof of his mouth before swallowing it down.

“You want more?” Castiel asked.

Dean nodded awkwardly.

“Not tonight.  Go clean up.  And then we have work to do.”

Castiel released him and Dean got to his feet, feeling a weird mix of happiness and disappointment.  His erection still bulged in the pants that did nothing to hide it.  He turned to walk toward the bathroom, and then Castiel’s arms circled him from behind.  One hand slipped beneath the waistband of the yoga pants and began to jack his wet cock roughly.  Dean gasped and bent slightly forward, one hand holding onto Castiel’s wrist where his hand gripped his hip.  It didn’t take long, less than thirty seconds, and Dean was spilling onto Castiel’s hand and the inside of his pants.  Then Castiel removed his hand and slapped Dean’s butt to get him moving in the direction of the bathroom again.  He couldn’t help but glance back and saw Castiel licking his come off his thumb.  The tableau that made caused a frisson to rock Dean so hard he nearly stopped walking altogether, but he managed to make it to the hallway.

When he returned, they were both calm and prepared to work.  Castiel was moving books from place to place in no order that Dean could discern, but he was more than happy to be his grunt laborer and ferry piles of books from one end of the room to the other.

At six o’clock Castiel announced he was going to make dinner, and Dean excused himself to use the restroom.  As he passed by one of the bookshelves, he noticed it was tipping forward.  The bookshelves were large, heavy, ornate things, and when he pushed on it slightly he saw that they had worn such deep grooves into the carpet that without books on them they didn’t fit properly in the divots.  When he let go it tilted back out, but it stayed upright.  He shrugged and figured as long as books were put back on, it would be okay.

When he returned from the bathroom, Castiel signaled that dinner was ready.  Dean automatically knelt next to Castiel’s chair and the man looked at him with raised eyebrows.

“Is that where you want to sit?”

“Oh…I…”  Dean looked at his empty seat, and then up at Castiel’s face.  “You decide, sir.”

Castiel bit his lip and moved his hand to brush the backs of his fingers along Dean’s jaw.  “I like you here, but I made spaghetti and feeding you down there will probably just make a mess.”

Dean nodded and sat down in his chair.  They’d only had two meals together, but already sitting at the table felt kind of weird and wrong.  But this was where Castiel wanted him because he didn’t want a mess.  Dean ate his spaghetti more carefully than he had ever eaten a plate of spaghetti in his life.  Castiel seemed to appreciate the effort.  After the dishes were washed, dried, and put away, they returned to the mess of books that was perhaps slightly approaching order again.  At a quarter to eight, Castiel called Dean over to him.  He sat on the one cleared couch, pulled Dean into his lap, and then leaned into him until they were mostly horizontal with Castiel on top.  They made out for about ten minutes until Dean tried to remind Castiel that he had to go or he’d be in the condo past eight.

Castiel groaned petulantly and kissed down Dean’s jaw.  “I should have stopped us at 7:30.  But there’s still such a huge mess,” he added with a despondent sigh.

“I’m sorry if I was a distraction.”

Castiel kissed his lips suddenly and then nuzzled his nose against Dean’s temple.  “Never apologize for being a distraction.  I can’t thank you enough for pulling me out of my fucking head.”

Dean’s brows creased at that statement.  He placed a hand to the back of his head and pulled him a little closer.

“Whatever you need, Castiel.  Whatever you want.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Castiel groaned in his ear.  Then he sat up and looked down at him.  “No lies, Dean, even if you think you mean them.  We can’t play that game.”

Dean nodded.  “The truth then: I like the feeling of belonging to you.  And if that helps you, then I’m willing to try almost anything to be what you need.”

Castiel’s lips parted in mild surprise.  “Dean, I…”  He swallowed and closed his eyes for a moment.  When he opened them again there was a rueful smile on his lips.  “I’m going to thank you for that and not say anything to ruin what you’ve given me tonight.  Other than, it’s after eight o’clock.  And you have to go.”

“I don’t have to,” Dean said in a voice barely above a whisper.  “If you want me to stay.”

Castiel’s hands clenched around his arms.  “No, siren, go sing your song elsewhere tonight.”  He softened the rejection by leaning down and kissing him on the lips, and then the collar.  “Monday has never seemed so far away.”

Then he stood up and returned to his pile of books, hunching his back and refusing to look at Dean as he struggled off the plush couch.  He made his way to the footlocker and changed clothes.  He glanced back once more before taking his collar off, but Castiel wouldn’t look at him.  He got his shoes out and collected his belongings.  Then he stepped outside with a soft, “Goodnight, Castiel.”

He wasn’t sure, but he thought he heard Castiel say “goodnight” back.

~~~

Dean woke up with a start.  His clock said that it was nine o’clock.  It was Sunday.  It was nine o’clock on a Sunday morning, why was he still in bed?  He had things to do.  What did he have to do?  It took him a moment to wrap his head around the fact that he didn’t have to go to work today and that he didn’t have any pressing emergencies.  He relaxed back into his bed and ran a hand through his hair.  He was free…he frowned.  He didn’t like it.  Then he sniffed the air.

“Shit.”

He bounded out of bed and ran into the kitchen just as the smoke alarm went off.  Sam was trying to open a window and Dean grabbed the pan of charred—whatever—off the stove, put it in the sink and covered it with the lid.  He ran some cold water over it to cool the pan, and steam hissed and spit into the air.  Fortunately the smoke from whatever Sam had been cooking was more or less contained by the lid.  He picked up a hand towel and began waving it at the smoke detector.  It turned off after about a minute.  Sam walked into the kitchen with a sheepish smile on his face.

“Surprise!” he said weakly.  “I made pancakes.”

Dean looked at his brother, and couldn’t hold his stern face for long.  He grinned and snapped the towel at him.  Sam yelped and ran out of the kitchen.

“You want some real pancakes?”

“Yes, please!”

“Then do me a favor.  Sit right here at the bar where I can see you, and do your homework.”

He recognized the look on Sam’s face as the one he made right before he was about throw a temper tantrum.  Amazingly, he fought against it and simply nodded.  He retrieved his backpack and set up camp at the bar.  Dean hummed to himself, pleasantly surprised with his brother’s maturity.  Clearly he was planning something, but at the present time, Dean didn’t care.  He raised the lid on the pan and waved away the last of the bitter smoke.  Then he set the faucet to the hottest water to allow the pan to soak.  He walked into the living room to change the channel on the TV from an infomercial to the news.  He stopped to watch the lead story for a moment.

“The little boy has been missing since last Thursday when he didn’t return to his foster home after school.  Authorities have set up a hotline to report any tips that may lead to the boy’s whereabouts.”

Dean clicked his tongue and turned away.  It had been four days since he’d been missing.  That didn’t bode well for a safe recovery.  Dean shuddered to think about it.  He’d lost Sam for ten minutes once in a grocery store when the kid had been six, and Dean had nearly been the first thirteen year old on the planet to have a heart attack.  He ruffled Sammy’s hair as he walked by and the teen made a face and dodged away from the touch.  Dean just chuckled and started scrubbing the burnt pan clean.

“You haven’t heard from Dad, have you?” Dean asked.

“Nope.”

Dean sighed.  More than likely he’d be gone for a week and Dean would get called to bring bail money to whatever hick town his Dad had gotten plastered in.

~~~

Dean woke up on Monday feeling excited.  He tried not to think about why he was excited.  Saturday evening he’d gotten a little weird and sentimental, but that didn’t mean he had turned completely into a sap for a guy he’d been fooling around with for a week.  He got Sam up and dressed and out the door.  Before he left, he checked his father’s room: still empty.  He shrugged and walked Sam to the bus stop, verifying again that one of his friend’s parents would pick him from school after their geology club meeting.  Dean shook his head as he walked to his car.  Debate club he understood, but rocks?  Where had he steered his little brother wrong?  There had to be a girl or something.

Dean arrived at Castiel’s a little early, but he figured that perhaps they had earned a few minutes of wiggle room with each other.  He knocked on the door, but Castiel didn’t come.  Dean took that to mean that maybe they hadn’t reached wiggle room status yet.  He waited three minutes until it was 7:58 and then tried again.  No answer.  He waited until exactly 8:00 and still heard no noises inside the apartment.  He actually leaned his ear against the door and listened.  He heard no sounds inside at all.  By 8:05, Castiel still hadn’t come to let him in, and Dean wondered if he’d gone out and hadn’t made it back yet.  Then he realized how utterly ridiculous that notion was.  By 8:15, Dean was wondering if he should call 911.  He called Gabriel first.

“Good lord do you know what time it is, Winchester?”

“Yes, I—”

“You know and you still called.  What’s up?  And please don’t say my brother’s cock up your ass.”

“Ugh, Gabriel!”

The man chuckled.  “Sorry.  I’m just kind of thrilled you made it to week two.  It’s been seven subs since one of them made it that far.  Or shit, wait.  Did you not make it to week two?”

“Well, I thought I did, but Castiel won’t let me in.”

“What do you mean he won’t let you in?  Like, he’s barring the door?”

“No, I mean he’s not answering the door.  I’m knocking, but I don’t hear anyone moving around inside.”

Gabriel was silent for endless seconds, and then he said, “Well, sometimes he has moods where he wants to be alone.”

“He didn’t send me a message.”

“He doesn’t always think about it.  Don’t worry about it, Dean.  I’ll check on him.”

“But what if he fell in the shower?  Or cut himself?  What if he’s bleeding out on the floor?”

“He’s too careful for that.  I’m sure he’s fine.  But, thank you for your concern.  I’ll come over now and check on him.  You can go on home.  I’ll text you later, let you know everything is okay.”

“But—”

“It’s fine, Dean.  I’ll handle it.”

Gabriel hung up on him.  Dean looked at his phone and then at Castiel’s door.  If Castiel was hurt, he might need a paramedic.  But then if he wasn’t, letting a paramedic into his condo might do vastly more damage.  Dean banged on the door loudly.

“Castiel!  It’s Dean.  It’s okay if you don’t want me here today, but let me know you’re okay.”

Dean waited, but got no reply.  He started to walk toward the elevator, but kept glancing back.  Finally he growled softly and marched back to the door.  He leaned against the wall and crossed his arms.  He hoped Gabriel’s definition of “now” wasn’t three hours or something.

Not twenty minutes later the elevator doors opened and Gabriel hurried off, heading down the hall at a swift jog that he quickly checked when he saw Dean.  He tried to walk nonchalantly the rest of the way, but Dean wasn’t fooled for a second.  Gabriel was scared.

“I said you could go home,” Gabriel said.

Dean didn’t respond except to meet his eyes with a stubborn gaze.  Gabriel pulled out a set of keys.

“Look, I don’t know what—or if— something happened, but he probably doesn’t want you to see him if something did happen.”

Dean shrugged.

“Dean, it’s not for him.  It’s for you.  If he’s having an episode, you might not be willing to come back.”

“I think that’s something I have the right to determine for myself.”

Gabriel looked away and didn’t try to dissuade him further.  He unlocked the door and stepped inside.

“Cas?” Gabriel called out, looking toward the kitchen.

To the left, Dean saw that the piles of books they had been working through on Saturday night were halfway put back on the shelves.  The other half were still in piles or scattered around the floor.  One of the heavy book cases had fallen over and the glass coffee table had shattered under it.

“Shit.”

Dean turned and saw that Gabriel had just seen the state of the living room.  He took off for the hallway.

“Cas!”

Dean followed after him and saw him disappearing into Castiel’s bedroom.  He was only a few steps behind and pulled up short when he reached the door.  There was a lump of blankets on the bed under which he assumed Castiel was curled into a ball.  What had made him stop was the smell—he’d smelled it a hundred times in his father’s room.  Piss and vomit, possibly fecal matter.  Gabriel sat tentatively on the edge of the bed and leaned down to whisper to his brother.

“Cas, hey bro, it’s Gabe.  What happened?  Come on, man, you can tell me.  You’re safe, I’m safe.  We can talk.”

Dean heard a faint murmur.

“Yeah, I saw that.  The bookshelf fell.  When did it fall?  Cas?  Please answer.  Castiel.”  The blankets flinched at Gabriel’s harsh tone.  “When did it fall?”

The murmur came again.  Gabriel cursed under his breath and stood up from the bed.  He walked over to Dean and pushed him out of the doorway and into the hall.

“You need to leave,” he said guiding Dean back out toward the door.

“What?  Why?  Is he okay?”

“He’s fine.  Or he will be.  I’ll take care of him.  He just—he’s afraid of accidents.  And when they happen he’s too scared to deal with the consequences, even if they’re minor.  The bookshelf falling and shattering the table—God, it probably…Look.  He’s my brother and I’ll take care of him, but you have to go.”

“I don’t mind helping.  I want to help.”

“Dean,” Gabriel snapped as they reached the front door.  “The bookshelf fell on Saturday night.  He’s been in his bed since then.  Didn’t you smell it?  He pissed and shit himself because he wouldn’t get out of bed for over thirty-six hours.  He will not want you to see him like this.  I will take care of it.”

Dean glanced back toward the hallway, his chest uncomfortably tight.  “But—”

“Dean, I cannot explain to you how relieved and thankful I am that your immediate reaction is pity and not disgust, but he won’t want to see the pity either.  Please understand.”

Dean swallowed and nodded.  “Okay.  Please, call me and let me know if he’s okay later.”

“I will.  I promise.”  Gabriel looked sad as he looked down.  “But, don’t be surprised if he cancels the arrangement after this.  He might not be able to face you again.  I mean, maybe he didn’t realize you were here, but, he’ll worry about having to explain why he wasn’t at the door, I just—”

“He hasn’t done it yet, so I’m not going to worry about that now.”

Gabriel nodded.  “Okay.  Thank you for calling me, Dean.”

Dean nodded and opened the door, guilt stabbing into his gut as he realized he hadn’t taken off his shoes.  He looked back at Gabriel.

“Take care of him?”

“I always do.”

Gabriel shut the door and Dean stood in the hallway for a long time.  He kept replaying in his head everything that had happened Saturday night.  Had he still been in the hallway when the bookshelf fell?  Could he have helped him that night if he’d heard the crash and come back?  Was he responsible for it?  Had pushing on the shelf caused it to slowly lose what equilibrium it had attained?  He didn’t think the bookshelf that had fallen was the one he had touched, but he wasn’t sure.  He was sure that he had noticed the bookshelves were leaning though.  Why hadn’t he said anything to Castiel?

Dean leaned against the wall and slid down to the floor.  He put his face in his hands and allowed himself a moment to process the facts.  Even if he had said something, done something to prevent the bookcase from falling, the fact remained that a simple accident had reduced Castiel to a nearly catatonic state.  Someone who was incapable of taking care of himself—not eating, not getting up to use the bathroom, hell he probably hadn’t even actually slept—that was a person who needed professional help.  Was Gabriel doing the right thing?  Letting him hide in his condo, babying him when he had his episodes, hiring men and women to play psychological control games with him?

At this point though, Dean had to make a decision about himself.  Whether Castiel needed professional help and whether his brother was strong enough to admit that didn’t change the fact that for now neither of them were looking in that direction.  They were content to continue with their situation as it was, so that left Dean to decide if he was going to continue the charade with them.  Seeing Castiel in the same state he often found his drunk father in had been a huge slap in the face.  Dean didn’t have a choice with his father, but every other relationship he made, he most definitely had a choice.  Did he want to tie himself to _another_ person who was so damaged he couldn’t take care of himself when the going got tough?

Dean felt his lip tremble and he bit it hard to stop the show of weakness, using the pain to force back the forming tears.  Maybe the fact that he was this concerned about the guy after only a week was a sign he needed to get out while he still could.  Castiel had serious problems, and Dean just wasn’t the solution.  Couldn’t be.

Dean got to his feet and walked down the hall toward the elevator.  Halfway there he pounded his fist against the wall.  Pain jarred through his bones, but he barely felt it.  His mind was too filled with thoughts of having to go beg Crowley for his job back, endless nights of dancing for lascivious men who barely viewed him as human…giving into Zachariah’s propositions because he needed the extra money.  Hell he’d already crossed the line into prostitution.  What difference did it make who he was spreading for?

~~~

It was Tuesday morning at 8:00am.  Dean pounded on Castiel’s door.

“Castiel!  It’s Dean.  Open the door.”

Nothing happened.  After he’d left Castiel’s yesterday, he’d been a jittery mess.  Unfortunately he didn’t drink anymore, so he didn’t have that option.  That just left him with food and women, but Ellen had kicked him out of the Roadhouse after he’s snapped at Jo for the third time.  The kid was obnoxious; eighteen years old and thought she was the shit.  And she kind of was.  She was beautiful, smart, strong, could fend for herself against the biggest Neanderthals, but she was like Sam to him.  A kid sister that pestered him and stuck her nose where it didn’t belong.

After getting kicked out of the Roadhouse, he’d gone for a drive and gotten halfway to Bobby’s before he’d turned the car around and driven back.  He wasn’t going to go cry to Bobby (not to the mention the fact that he couldn’t possibly tell him what was bothering him).  Plus Sam would be worried if he wasn’t home when he got home.  He also needed to make dinner for them.  He was too amped to attempt cooking, so he ordered Chinese and made terrible company while Sam tried to explain about the difference between an emerald and an agate.  He did have enough wherewithal to catch that Sam said the name Jess at least three times in ten minutes.  He knew there had to be a girl.  Good for him.

Then he’d gotten the text.  Gabriel told him that he’d gotten Castiel out of bed and back to a functioning state, but then he confirmed that Castiel had canceled the arrangement.  Castiel would pay him for the next two weeks, but he didn’t need to come over anymore.

Dean had been surprised when the strongest emotion he’d felt after reading that news was disappointment, followed quickly by sadness, and only then felt a little bit of relief.  But the cancelation only served to make him feel worse and worse as the night went on, and without alcohol to help him dull the confusing feelings, he’d downed three Advil PMs and crashed into bed at 8:30 at night.  He’d woken up at 6:30 and lain in bed for half an hour, staring at the ceiling and thinking.  By 7:00 he’d come to a conclusion.  A conclusion that had him standing outside Castiel’s door, banging loud enough to wake the neighbors.  Apparently he was being ignored, unless Gabriel had lied and he hadn’t recovered and was still curled up in bed.  Or maybe Gabriel had convinced him to go to a hospital.

He banged on the door again.  “Castiel!  It’s 8:00; hold up your end of the deal.”

“Gabriel texted you that it was ended,” came a muffled voice through the door.

Dean scowled at the door.  “It’s not in writing yet.”

“You need to leave, Dean.”

“Open the door or I’m calling your brother.”

The door cracked open almost immediately.  Castiel was in a pair of sweats—that had to be at least three sizes too big for him—that proclaimed he was a Proud Sooner Dad.  Where had he gotten them?  It didn’t matter.  Once Dean got him out of them, he was burning them.  He looked (and smelled) clean, but he had bags under his eyes and he glared sleepily at Dean.

“Why are you here?  I didn’t think you’d want to—ever see me again…after…”  Castiel looked down at the floor.  “I can’t…you saw me…”

Dean didn’t respond to that.  He just waited for Castiel to get curious enough by Dean’s silence to raise his head and look at him.  When he did, Dean lifted up the toolbox in his hand.

“Can I bring these in?  I sanitized them.”

Castiel tilted his head.  “What are they for?”

“I’m going to anchor your bookshelves to the walls.  They’re too heavy to sit on carpet.  And since switching from carpet to hardwood floors is probably a bigger project than you’re ready to take on right now, we need to secure them so none of them will fall over again.”

Castiel stared at him with wide eyes.  He seemed frozen.  Dean toed his shoes off and bent down and picked them up with his free hand.

“Can I come in?”

Castiel shuffled back and opened the door wider.  Dean stepped inside and put the tools down and then his shoes into the footlocker.  He put on his collar without looking at Castiel; he didn’t want to give the man the chance to tell him he needn’t bother with that because he could fix the shelves but their arrangement was still off.  Once the collar was in place he started stripping.  He heard a soft sound from behind him, but Castiel didn’t make an intelligible objection, so Dean didn’t stop.  Once he was naked he turned to face Castiel, who was several feet away and hugging himself tightly.

“I’m going to go wash up,” Dean said, and then headed for the bathroom.

The room was cold since the floor heaters weren’t on and the tub wasn’t prepared for him.  The onsen was covered and the lights over it were dim.  Dean washed quickly under the showerhead, and then turned the water on in the bathtub.  While the tub filled, Dean searched through the soaps and shampoos Castiel kept stored in the teak dresser.  He found the ginger scented one Castiel had used on the first day.  He liked it better than the apple one he’d used on Wednesday; it had smelled a little too girly.

Dean ignored Castiel as he stood in the doorway and watched him methodically wash himself the way he’d had to do on Tuesday.  He knew there was really no point to it, but he even went through the awkward process of douching himself.  Just so that Castiel knew he was offering himself to him wholly.  He skipped the teeny tiny wash cloth for drying off and used one of the large fluffy bath sheets the man kept squirreled away in the bottom drawer.  Dean hadn’t figured out yet why Castiel made him dry off with such small towels.

When he was done he was surprised and a little put out to discover that Castiel had left.  Dean walked to Castiel’s bedroom to look for his yoga pants.  He wasn’t about to start drilling holes in walls buck ass naked.  He found Castiel coming out of his closet, holding a pair of soft, worn jeans.  He handed them to Dean.

“Wear these while you work.”

“I appreciate it, but I think your jeans will be a little tight on me.”

“I’m sure they will be.”

Dean tilted his head slightly as he examined Castiel’s face and found hints of his usual humor.  Dean laughed softly and accepted the jeans.

“Alright.  You got a shirt I can wear?”

“Nope.”

Dean hopped into the jeans and had to struggle a bit to get them zipped up.  He met Castiel’s eyes.

“So, you want me to do construction in tight jeans and no shirt?”

“Well…yes…do you have a tool belt or just the box?”

“There’s a belt.”

The barest shadow of a smile pulled at Castiel’s lips.  “Okay.  Let’s go then.”

Dean walked back out to the front room and loaded up the tool belt with the tools and hardware he would need.  He strapped it into place and walked into the living room.  The glass had been cleaned up and the table was gone, but books were still piled everywhere.  He decided to start with one of the empty bookshelves.  He lined the shelf up in the divots in the carpet and then turned to look at Castiel.

“Do you want them all to stay in the same places?”

Castiel nodded.  Dean turned back to the shelf and got to work.  It was a fairly simple procedure to anchor the bookshelves by the two top corners to the wall, and he was able to complete each one in about ten or fifteen minutes each.  And it only took that long because he was extra careful about measuring and making sure everything was lined up so that Castiel wouldn’t get twitchy if he had to keep looking at a slightly misaligned bookshelf day in and day out.  He assumed Castiel was checking his work as he followed him from shelf to shelf with a Dustbuster, cleaning up the drywall that sprinkled to the floor after Dean made the holes in the walls.

He was about three quarters of the way done when Castiel approached him.  He stopped his work and turned to face the man.  He handed him a Diet Coke.

“It’s 11:30.  Time for a Diet Coke break.”

Dean took the can with a raised eyebrow.  “It can’t be more than 9:30.”

Castiel groaned softly.  “Oh, God.  You’re too young to remember that commercial, aren’t you?”

Dean popped the tab and took a sip.  “What commercial?”

Castiel pouted slightly.  “Never mind,” he grumbled.  “You’re doing good work.”

Dean made a mental note to look up Diet Coke commercials when he got home.  He drank half the soda, then set it down and finished his work.  Once all the shelves were secure, he looked around at the books.

“Are these ready to go on?”

Castiel fidgeted and Dean picked up a stack of books.

“Tell me where they go or I’m going to put them in the order of how pretentious I think the titles are.”

Castiel actually let out a small gasp of horror.  He quickly weaved his way over to Dean and took the books from his hands.

“They’re organized already.  They just need to be put on the shelves.”

“Alright.  Let’s do it.”

Despite the fact that Castiel had said the books were already in order, he had a system for putting them on the shelves and it took the rest of the morning to get the living room in order.  However, once everything was back in its place, Castiel was standing up straight and didn’t appear to shy away from contact with Dean anymore.  Not that there was any contact beyond a few light brushes of their arms or hands.

Dean took initiative in the kitchen and made mini sliders and potato salad for lunch.  Castiel stood by and watched him curiously, eyes tracking his movements around the kitchen.  Dean glanced at him occasionally, but didn’t try to get him to talk to him.  In theory, he was still the sub here.  Once he was finished and serving the plates, Castiel finally inched closer.

“You know how to cook?”

“I learned how to make edible food.”

“You’re probably better than me.”

Dean snorted.  “I know I’m better than you.  No offense, Castiel, but if you need premade food kits to cook, you’re not really cooking.”

Castiel grumbled something unintelligible.

“Get us some water and meet me at the table.”

Castiel’s eyebrows shot up at what amounted to an order, but he didn’t comment and moved to obey.  Dean set their plates down in their assigned positions, and waited for Castiel to take his seat.  Then he knelt down, with a little difficulty in the tight jeans, next to Castiel.  He looked up at him and waited for Castiel to take the initiative and take back the control.

Castiel stared at him for a long time.  Their food cooled, but Dean didn’t comment.  At last, Castiel picked up a fork, gathered up a small bite of potato salad, and offered it to Dean.  He ate it, proud that’d he gotten it perfect: the potatoes weren’t mushy, it was creamy, and well-seasoned.  Castiel reached out with a hand and wiped the corner of Dean’s mouth with his thumb.

“Do you want to continue our arrangement?” he asked quietly.

“I do.  Do you?”

Castiel nodded.

“I need verbal confirmation, Castiel.”

He narrowed his eyes slightly, but his lips were starting to curve up.  “I wish to continue our arrangement, Dean.”

Dean nodded.  “Good.”

Castiel picked up his own fork and took a bite of the potato salad.

“Mm.  This is good.”

Dean smiled and dropped his eyes so that it wouldn’t be too obvious how happy Castiel’s praise made him.

“Perhaps a bit too salty.”


	6. Chapter 6

Dean tried to prepare himself for whatever might answer the door this morning.  Yesterday he hadn’t been able to get Castiel out of those sweats, and Castiel had never asked him to take off the jeans.  They’d remained mostly clothed and comfortably awkward around each other until four o’clock when Castiel had unceremoniously kicked him out.  He’d been kind of worried all day that Castiel would want to talk about what had happened because even though he knew it would be the smart thing to do, Dean didn’t want to have to talk—out loud—about…things.  But even after a week he should have known Castiel better than that.

What he didn’t know about him though was if he was still wallowing in his embarrassment and lingering depression and fear from his episode.  If that was the case he might still be in those awful sweatpants.  Or perhaps he had regressed and wasn’t going to allow Dean in again.  Fortunately the threat of Gabriel was enough to gain him entry, but he didn’t want to have to resort to that.

When the door opened, Castiel peered out at him tentatively, wearing the baggy corduroys and green cable knit sweater.  On a personal level it wasn’t much of an improvement, but he recognized that for Castiel it was a step in the right direction.  The man shuffled back and let him inside.  Dean was collared and undressed in record time; he wanted Castiel to fall into his dom headspace as quickly as possible.  That, however, was not happening any time soon as Dean was once again treated to a bathing like he was a dog being sprayed down with a hose.

From there he was put in yoga pants and a T-shirt and told to sit down on his fuzzy pillow while Castiel worked.  Dean sighed internally as he knew today was just going to be several uninteresting hours of obeying orders by doing menial tasks.  Dean knew he shouldn’t be surprised that their relationship—arrangement—had been set back due to Castiel’s episode, but as far as Dean was concerned, nothing had changed.  Yes, seeing Castiel catatonic and helpless in his own waste had been shocking and kind of eye-opening.  Except, based on what Gabriel had told him, Dean had already suspected how deeply Castiel’s neurosis cut into him.  Plus, dealing with his father had left him rather numb to something as mundane as a person not being able to get out of bed long enough to relieve himself.

Since he was dealing with Castiel’s breakdown better than the man was himself, he was ready to resume their usual activities.  In fact, he was ready to progress a little further.  They’d been at this for over a week now and Castiel still hadn’t fucked him properly.  He was starting to wonder if there was something about him that Castiel didn’t find attractive.  Of course, Castiel had assured him that wasn’t the case, but still.  Who could be offered up an ass as nice as his every day and turn it down?  Alright, so that was a little vain, but he’d been getting propositioned since he was fourteen years old.  He knew how desirable he was.

“Et-hmm.”

Dean’s attention snapped to Castiel.  The man was giving him a mild glare and looking at his right hand.  Dean looked down and saw that he was tapping his finger on his thigh.  He stopped.  Castiel faced his computer and said, “Go check the anchors on the bookshelves.”

Dean kept his face neutral until his back was to Castiel, and then he rolled his eyes.  When he returned to the office he took the time to examine Castiel’s body language.  He was tense and hunched and projecting an aura of being ill at ease.  He was in his own home, and he never went anywhere; if he was uncomfortable here he had nothing but misery in his life.  And Dean didn’t think it was just because another person was invading his space.  He suspected Castiel was like this even when he was alone.  Dean sat on the fuzzy pillow and considered.  He could try to push Castiel until he was forced to fall into his natural need to be in control.  If he did that though, there was a real chance that it could backfire and make things worse.  From Dean’s point of view, he didn’t think things could get much worse anyway, so he began tapping his finger on his leg again.

He could tell that Castiel noticed right away, but he ignored it.  For the most part.  Dean could tell he was noticing and trying not to by the way he kept tilting his head and occasionally hitting one of the keys on the keyboard a little too hard.  After about twenty minutes he was ordered out of the room with a printed recipe for creating marinated chicken breast.  He found the ingredients in Castiel’s kitchen and got the chicken prepped and marinating in record time.  Then he was back on his pillow, tapping away with his finger.

Up until lunch Castiel dealt with it by sending him out of the room.  Dean was starting to worry it wasn’t really going to get to him, until at lunch he was ordered to kneel on the floor and be handfed.  Dean could sense Castiel was on the verge of needing to take control of Dean’s actions.  So he continued with his one finger attack in the afternoon.  He was sent out to check the windows and curtains and then to organize Castiel’s shoes in his closet by color.  He had three pairs.  He was getting desperate.  Dean was ready to move in for the final strike.

There was only an hour left on his shift when he started strumming all his fingers on his thighs.  Castiel stopped typing and went rigid.  Thirty seconds passed, and then he turned to Dean with a “Stop that!”

Dean stopped immediately.  He was walking the line now—he could either get Castiel to play or he could make him shut down completely.

“Sorry,” Dean replied.

“If you’re bored, you don’t have to be here,” Castiel snapped.

“I’m not bored.  I just—get antsy sometimes.  Need to move.”

“Well, stop with the fingers.”  He faced his computer again.  “I thought subs were supposed to be able to sit still.”

Dean bristled at the muttered comment, but didn’t allow it to distract him from his mission.  He started tapping one finger.  Castiel stopped typing and slowly turned in his chair to face Dean.

“What?” Dean asked innocently.  “You said to stop with the finger _s_.  Plural.  This is just one finger.  One finger can’t be that bothersome, can it?”

Castiel’s eyes focused on his face and Dean did his best not to wilt.  He needed to stay firm just long enough for Castiel to reach a decision.  Then the man stood up.

“Follow me, Dean.”

Dean stood, stomach flipping with nervousness as he wasn’t entirely sure if Castiel had plans or if he was simply walking him to the front door so that he could kick him out.  They turned right at the office door, though, and Castiel led him into the punishment room.  Dean’s stomach was still flip-flopping, but now it was with excitement.

“Strip,” Castiel ordered.

Dean threw off the shirt and pants and stood with his hands behind his back in the middle of the room; the table from his last punishment was gone.  Castiel closed the door and Dean’s eyes tracked the movement.  He’d never been in the room with the door closed before.  As long as Castiel stayed with him, he didn’t feel anxious.

“Get on your knees,” Castiel said calmly.

Dean lowered to his knees slowly, cognizant of the hard tile floor.  It already felt unpleasant, but Dean kind of liked the feeling.  Of course he did.  Wires crossed and all that.  Castiel stepped forward and placed a socked foot on Dean’s dick and pressed gently, and then harder.

“You’re not hard for me?”

Dean swallowed and bit his lip as Castiel continued to grind his foot into his crotch.  He was getting hard, embarrassingly fast.  Castiel stepped back and watched Dean.  Dean spread his knees a bit wider and his dick got to about half-mast just from the grinding and Castiel watching him.

“Get yourself completely hard.”

Dean moved one hand from behind his back and was about to grab his cock when Castiel spoke again.

“Only use one finger, Dean.”

Dean met his eyes.  Castiel had his arms crossed and he looked nothing like the grumpy hermit that had met him this morning.  The baggy clothes did nothing to hide his aggressive posture.  Dean pointed out one finger and then moved it to stroke over his dick.  It was a little odd to only use one finger to try to “jack” himself to a full erection, but the situation did more than enough to help him along.  When he was completely erect, dick pointed to the ceiling, and precome pearling at the tip, he looked up to Castiel for approval.

“Good,” Castiel said flatly.  “Now, be a very, very good boy.  And get yourself off for me.”

Dean inhaled and exhaled quickly.  Shit, that’s what did it for him.  Not the “good boy” or the “get yourself off,” but the “for me.”  Dean’s hand moved to grip himself.

“Ah-ah!” Castiel said and Dean looked up to find the man wagging one finger.

Dean’s lips parted in disbelief.  He couldn’t be serious.  Castiel crossed his arms and stared at him impassively.  Dean looked down at his member, and then at his one index finger.  He started to rub his finger up and down the length of his cock.  It felt good, of course, but it was a teasing touch at best.  Dean didn’t do much more than stroke up and down his cock for a bit until he realized he was supposed to get himself off and this just wasn’t going to do it.  He tried to curl his finger over a bit; that helped but not by much.  Then he tried rubbing his finger quickly back and forth over a smaller area.  That gave him a bit of a jolt, but wasn’t like a penis was a clitoris.  That was not going to work.  He tried stimulating just the head, and then the base and around his balls, and he was moving himself in the right direction, but very, very slowly.  His knees ached as he shifted.  Maybe if he could get something up his ass it would help.

“S-sir?”

“Yes, Dean?”

“May I use one finger on my hole?”

“Of course.  However you like.”

Dean tried to hide his exhale of relief and sucked on the middle finger of his left hand.  When he reached back around to finger himself, Castiel said, “One finger at a time, Dean.”

Dean looked up, mouth agape.  Was he shitting him right now?  Dean moved his right hand to his side and worked on getting his finger into his hole.  It was awkward in his current position with only one finger to work with.  He couldn’t even get a solid hit on his prostate, just a few grazes on the bottom edge.  Frustrated, Dean removed his finger from his ass and went back to stroking his cock with his right pointer finger.

“Hmm,” Castiel mused.  “Perhaps one finger is more aggravating than you thought.”

Dean shot him a glare and worked his finger faster.  A small smile graced Castiel’s lips and he looked pitilessly down on Dean.

“Come on, Dean, I’m starting you think you don’t even want to come.”

Dean worked his cock over with more fervor, his hips undulating slightly against nothing, his knees protesting the movement on the harsh tile.

“It seems like you want it, you’re dripping precome all over my clean floor.  And yet, you’re barely even trying.”

Dean felt himself growing aggravated and clenched his teeth as he worked at his cock.  His groin was tingling with the need for more stimulation and he moved his finger to the underside of his cock head.  He rubbed at it furiously and let out a small whine when he felt the friction sending him where he wanted to go, but because his dick kept getting pushed up he couldn’t get enough pressure on it.  Finally he realized if he pushed his dick all the way up—it landed against his stomach, and now held firm, he was able to ruthlessly rub his finger just on the underside of the glans.  His mouth opened and small, desperate grunts fell out him.  He arched his back to keep his stomach firmly pressed against his cock.  He knew he must look obscene, jutting out toward Castiel, his finger working furiously.  He squeezed his eyes shut and internally begged himself to just do it, do it, do it!

Dean let out a rough shout as he finally came, and yet it was so unfulfilling.  He growled softly and dropped his hand, just letting his dick sputter pathetically.  God, it was almost like he hadn’t come at all even though his chest was covered in semen.  He breathed rapidly for a few moments, and then finally looked up at Castiel.

“I don’t think a stomach is a finger.”

Dean’s lips parted, but he didn’t know what to say.  Not that it mattered because Castiel stepped forward and hooked a thumb in his mouth, holding it open.  With one deft hand he got his fly open and his cock out.  The pants were so baggy he hadn’t been able to tell if Castiel had been at all aroused, but the hard, red, leaking cock in his face told him all he needed to know.  He left out a soft sound when Castiel shoved his dick into his mouth.  Then man used both hands to guide his head forward until he was deepthroating him, his cockhead angled partially down his throat.  Dean swallowed and focused on breathing.

He’d been fifteen when he’d learned how to deepthroat.  Miami again.  One of the guys who worked at the auto shop where his father had been employed (back when he was still able to hold down a job), had been flirting with and fondling him since he’d been fourteen.  When the guy finally figured out that Dean did in fact like men, he’d told him he’d teach him everything he needed to know.  That lesson had essentially been forcing Dean to choke on his dick every day for a month straight.  He hadn’t been eased into it; he’d just be held down and face fucked until he finally stopped gagging and learned how to swallow and breathe around a fat cock.  Now that he was older, he realized how dangerous that had been, how nearly passing out and puking your guts up wasn’t a normal way to learn to give head.  He didn’t think his current abilities would be worth going through the experience again, but what was done was done and he could easily take Castiel violently fucking his mouth with ease.

He sat back on his haunches and tilted his head back slightly.  He kept his eyes closed and focused on his breathing.  He concentrated on the feel of Castiel in his mouth, on his tongue, down his throat.  He wasn’t sure, but he thought he might actually be hard again.  Castiel was hot and smooth and so fucking hard.  He could taste the earthiness of his skin and the bitter saltiness of his precome.  He could _feel_ Castiel’s intense need to possess him.  He raised his right hand and put his index finger against the side of his mouth so that it slid against Castiel’s wet member as it pumped in and out of his mouth.  Castiel groaned loudly and grabbed Dean’s hair with both hands.  Dean tried not to tense up as Castiel pounded into him.  He could do this, he could do this for him…

Then Castiel pulled out suddenly, hissing sharply as the head scraped against Dean’s teeth.

“Mouth…open,” he grunted.

Dean opened his mouth, panting, eyes trained on Castiel’s dick as his hand flew over it.  He partially stuck out his tongue in just enough time to catch the first spurt of Castiel’s come.  The man came over and over, and Dean drew his tongue into his mouth to swallow before sticking it back out to catch more.  One of Castiel’s hands gripped his hair tightly the whole time, making sure he couldn’t turn away from one single drop.  Dean licked and swallowed all of it down.  He wanted to tell Castiel that he could take it down his throat—he had plenty of practice at that.  But, this way he did get to really taste it.  Jizz didn’t taste good, it really didn’t, but it was easy to attach satisfaction, desire, and need to the flavor.

When Castiel stilled, he was breathing hard and looking down at Dean with wide eyes.

“Are—are you okay?” he whispered.

Dean nodded.

Castiel closed his eyes and looked like he was in pain.  He probably thought he had gone too far.  Dean leaned forward and kissed his hand.

“Fuck,” Castiel breathed.  “It’s almost four.  Shit, I shouldn’t have—”

Dean nipped at his hand and he stopped talking.  They stayed still for a moment, both catching their breath.  Then Castiel spoke.

“I’m so sorry, Dean, but it’s almost four.”

Dean nodded.  “I understand.”

Dean got to his feet, wincing as his knees protested, and then he left the punishment room.  Castiel didn’t follow him.  He dressed and took his collar off alone.  He waited with shoes in hand until the last possible second, but Castiel didn’t emerge from the hallway.  He left feeling strung out and didn’t even think about what he must look like as he rode the elevator down to the garage.  He drove home in a semi-trance, and barely registered the raised eyebrows he got from passersby on the two block walk from where he parked to the apartment.  It wasn’t until he was home and in the bathroom before he looked at himself in the mirror.

“Fuck.”

His hair was a disaster.  And not just the “just woke up” kind of bedhead, but the “someone has clearly had their hands twisted in my hair while they skull fucked me” kind.  His mouth was still red as well as the skin surrounding it.  There was a dull, flakey crust on one side of his chin.  Dried semen.  He looked like a desperate slut or a rape victim.  One of the two.  No wonder people had been giving him weird looks.

Dean leaned against the sink and couldn’t believe he’d left Castiel’s condo looking like this.  He couldn’t believe that he’d enjoyed allowing the man to use him so indiscriminately—after playing a twisted game of Get Yourself Off With One Finger.  That was so fucking weird.  Why had he thought pushing Castiel was a good idea?  Why had he agreed to something as ridiculous as a one fingered jerk off session?  Why had he been so eager to open wide and let Castiel fuck his face like a stranger desperate to get off as quickly as possible at a glory hole?

“Dean?”

Dean started and slammed the bathroom door shut.  Sam was home.  He slumped forward onto the vanity.  Jesus fuck.  What if Sam found out the kind of fucked up shit he was into?  Because there was no denying he got off on it.  Castiel may have been the one controlling the situation, but Dean had wanted it.  Wanted more.  Wanted _worse_.  Sam would be fucking scarred if he knew how depraved his big brother was.

“Fuck.”

Dean slammed a knee against the cabinets.

“Dean?  Are you in the bathroom?”

“Yeah.  Um…”

“Dude, I don’t need details,” Sam laughed.  “When you’re done, can you help me with my trig?  I’ve got a quiz tomorrow.”

“S-sure.  No problem.”

“Thanks.  Oh, guess what Jess said today?”

Sam’s voiced trailed off as he moved away from the door.  Dean turned on the faucet and washed his face.  He dried it, and then brushed his hair quickly, refusing to look at himself in the mirror.  He took a few deep, calming breaths and then left the bathroom.  Sam needed him, and he was going to be there for him.

~~~

Dean put a hand to his head and hesitated before knocking on Castiel’s door.  He wasn’t in the right frame of mind to subject himself to Castiel’s whims today, and he wasn’t quite sure why.  Yeah, he was still a little messed up from yesterday, but he couldn’t complain about it.  Nothing had happened that wasn’t allowed within the confines of their arrangement.  And hell, it wasn’t even the acts themselves that bothered him.  It was the fact he’d enjoyed himself.  Sure, he knew he liked subbing and getting a little pain with his pleasure, but yesterday…yesterday…it had been like…he’d hadn’t been playing the part of belonging to Castiel, but he had actually just been one of the man’s playthings.  And he’d liked it.

The door opened and Dean started back.  Castiel stared at him dressed in slacks, a dress shirt, and a striped tie.

“You’re not knocking,” Castiel said.

“Oh.  I, um, skipped my coffee this morning.  I guess I’m a little out of it.”

“Should we not engage today, then?”

“What?  No.  Why?”

“You have to be cognizant enough to be able to consent to anything we do.”

Dean let out a soft laugh.  “Nah, I’m fine.  I just—”

“It’s in our arrangement that you are ready and prepared for your shift.  You’re going to have to go home.”

“What?”

“And I’ll have to dock you a day’s pay.”

“What?!”

“Good day, Dean.”

Castiel shut the door.

“ _What_?!”

Dean clenched his fists and very nearly kicked the door.  He inhaled deeply and then let it out slowly.  He turned and stalked down the hall very much aware that he wasn’t going to be able to change Castiel’s mind even if he threatened to call Gabriel.  After all, what would he tell him?  Your brother won’t let me in to play sex games with him?  Dean punched the call button for the elevator.  Perfect.  Just what he needed today: to feel like a complete tool.  Whatever.  Now he had time to go to the grocery store.

~~~

The next morning Dean pounded on the door.  Behind him, the door opened and Dean spun around, his heart hammering in his chest.

“I know, Dad.  I’m only asking for a ride because I’m late.  Telling me I’m late as we’re running out the door is not constructive!”

“Don’t get an attitude with me Jessica Lee—”

“Dean!  Hi!”

Dean nodded to the father and daughter awkwardly.  Behind him, the door opened and he spun around to look at Castiel, who looked extremely uncomfortable to see three people in the hallway.

“Mr. Novak!” the girl, Jessica, greeted him excitedly.  “How are you?”

“F-fine.”

“Great.  We met your—um, is caretaker an insulting word?”

“Jessica, school,” her father groaned.

“Caretaker?” Castiel asked stiffly.

“Yeah, Dean said he’s not a nurse.  So, he’s like, a companion, right?  Like Lucy Liu on _Elementary_ or something?”

“We’re leaving,” Jim Moore said and dragged his daughter down the hallway.

“Bye, Mr. Novak!  Bye, Dean!”

Dean wiggled a couple of fingers at her and then turned to face Castiel.

“Caretaker?” he asked icily.

“I never said that.  She made assumptions and I didn’t know how to correct her.  It seemed inappropriate to tell her that I’m Mr. Novak’s kinky submissive.”

Castiel frowned and crossed his arms.

“Come on, man, let me in.  They’re waiting on the elevator and she keeps looking back.”

Castiel stepped back and let Dean in.  He immediately began his ritual and paid as little attention as possible to Castiel.  He didn’t know why he was in a foul mood.  Probably because Castiel was.  And why was _Castiel_ in a bad mood?  He wasn’t the one who had to let some freak pay him to do weird ass shit to him.

They faced each other, both with grumpy expressions on their faces.  Well, today was going to be awesome.

“You’re my caretaker then—”

“Come on, man, don’t be like that.”

“Don’t call me anything but by my name.”

“Fine.  Castiel.  Don’t be a dick.  And that’s not a nickname, it’s a description.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed to squinty slits.  “Go wash up.”

Dean turned and stalked out of the room.  He washed alone, grumbling to himself, and didn’t do nearly as thorough a job as he ordinarily would.  When he was done, he found a full laundry basket waiting for him in the hallway.

“Allow me to show you were the utility room is,” Castiel grumped.

Dean made a noise and snatched up the laundry basket.  He followed Castiel back into the large bathroom and wondered if he was going to make him hand wash the laundry by beating it with stones or something.  In the back of the room near the wall shared by Castiel’s bedroom he finally noticed that there was a seam in the tiled wall in the shape of a door.  Castiel pulled it open and revealed a small room with a washer, dryer, and deep sink.

Dean set the basket on the dryer and opened the lid to the washer.  He was about to start dumping clothes in when Castiel stopped him, informing him that he needed to sort the clothes.  And of course, Castiel didn’t just sort into lights and darks, he had about seven different categories that meant Dean would be washing seven loads of clothes from a pile that would be one in his household, two max.

The whole day Dean sat on that stupid fuzzy pillow, glaring at Castiel until he had to go put clothes in the dryer and clothes in the wash and hang up and fold the clothing that was finished.  Castiel either ignored him or frowned at him.  Dean was back to the idea of quitting.  This whole arrangement was a clusterfuck.  They were either too antsy to touch each other or doing the kind of kinky shit Dean was too embarrassed to admit that he liked.  He didn’t need this in his life.  He had one more load to get out of the dryer, and then it would be close enough to four for him to leave.  He wasn’t even going to think about Friday yet.  Twenty-four hours of this kind of nonsense was enough to make him long for the creepy guy at Heavenly Host who had paid for a private dance but didn’t want Dean to sit in his lap but grind on the arm of the chair while he watched.

Dean realized he was grumbling aloud as he bent over to dig the last load out of the dryer, but he didn’t care.  He bundled the warm clothes in his arms and stood up to place them on top of the dryer and kneed the door shut.  He froze when he felt the hand on his back between his shoulder blades.  Oddly enough, Castiel hadn’t let him dress so he’d been naked the whole day.  It hadn’t really bothered him, but now he was very aware that he was completely exposed and Castiel (at least that was his assumption) was standing behind him quietly.

The hand moved so that the thumb could trace his right shoulder blade.  Then finger tips trailed down his spine and into the curve of the small of his back.  He could sense that Castiel had stepped very close to him as he felt the heat of his body all along his skin.  Castiel placed a barely there kiss on his bare shoulder and Dean’s head dropped back, his eyes closing as some of the tension he’d been carrying all day melted away.  Castiel’s hands traipsed feather light down his sides and he kissed the base of his neck.  Dean gripped the edge of the dryer.  Castiel’s hands settled in a loose grip on his hips.  Their feet shuffled and they were close enough together now that Dean could just feel Castiel’s clothed erection brushing his ass.  Castiel kissed his collar and Dan slumped forward onto his forearms on top of the dryer.  He canted his hips back and made solid contact with Castiel’s groin.  Castiel groaned softly and ran his hands over Dean’s back, and then cupped his shoulders and pulled him back.  Dean turned his moan into a hum by leaving his lips pressed tightly together.  Castiel draped himself over Dean’s back and began licking and biting gently on his neck.  Dean spread his feet apart a little bit and pushed back against Castiel’s erection.  They both panted as they grinded together gently.

Dean put his forehead down on the warm metal of the dryer.  Castiel ran so hot and cold he was impossible to predict and jarring to his senses.  As angry as he was with the way he’d been treated today and as humiliated as he still felt by the things he had done recently, he still wanted nothing more than for Castiel to take him, right here and now in the goddamned laundry room.

Then Castiel was backing away.  “It’s almost four.  I’ll take care of this last load.”

Dean’s body jerked with something that wasn’t sob—he didn’t know what it was, but it felt like disappointment.  Not for Castiel, but for himself.  Clearly there was something about him that wasn’t good enough for the man.  Dean nodded and stood up.  He brushed past Castiel and made his way to the front door.  He dressed and removed his collar, feeling uncomfortable without it on and Castiel standing so close to him.  He began to put his belongings in his pockets when Castiel brushed a hand down his arm.

“Dean, I—”

“Stop.  You don’t have to.  Collar’s off.”

“W-what?”

“You don’t have to…we’re done for the day.  You don’t have to pretend to—”

Dean turned and grabbed his shoes.

“Pretend?  I’ve never—”

“I get it, alright?  I mean, sometimes when shit gets too weird it’s hard to maintain the persona.  I know I pushed you into it—”

“Pushed me into what?  Dean, you’re not making any sense.”

“I know I’m not.  Never mind.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Dean opened the door, but Castiel grabbed his arm.

“Dean.  Did I do something that fell outside the bounds of the contract?”

Dean let out a humorless laugh.  “No, no you didn’t.”

Dean pulled away from him and walked out the door.  He rubbed his forehead as he walked away.  Jesus what was wrong with him?  He was going to get himself fired.

~~~

Friday, Dean was nervous as hell.  He had no idea what version of Castiel was going to greet him and he had no idea how he was going to respond to it.  He tried to shake off the nagging feelings he’d been carrying around since Tuesday, but he still felt so unbalanced when he was at Castiel’s.  That feeling wasn’t helped in the slightest when Castiel answered the door wearing nothing but a towel.

“Ummm…”  Dean stared at Castiel’s chest.

“Good morning.  Come inside.”

Dean started to step inside and Castiel planted a hand hard in the center of his chest.

“Shoes!”

“Oh, shit.  Right, sorry.”

Dean took his shoes off and stepped inside.  He quickly donned his collar and shed his clothing, and then Castiel led him to the hallway.  He tried not to focus on how amazing Castiel’s back muscles were when he stretched them.  In the bathroom, Castiel immediately dropped the towel and tossed it aside.  Dean had to force himself not to stare and quickly rinsed off under the showerhead.

For the first time in days, Castiel bathed him with the same care and attention he had the first day.  Except this time, it wasn’t particularly sexy.  Sensual, yes, but there was clearly no aim to try to arouse him.  That would have worried him, but he felt too relaxed and comfortable to care.  When they were done, Dean waited for Castiel to hand him his teeny, tiny cloth to dry off with, but instead the man motioned him toward the onsen.  Cas climbed inside and looked expectantly at Dean.

“Another bath?”

Castiel shrugged.  So, Dean shrugged and climbed in.  He sat against the side, perpendicular to Castiel.  Castiel motioned him closer.  Dean pushed through the water until he floated into Castiel’s space.  The man put an arm up on the back of the onsen, and Dean (somewhat suspiciously) settled against Castiel’s side.  He wrapped his arm around Dean’s shoulder and pulled him closer.  Dean sat still, relaxed and warm, but also wary.  Castiel moved his hand from Dean’s shoulder and began threading his fingers through Dean’s hair.  Dean felt his eyes start to slide shut.  This would be the part where he’d start purring if he was physically capable of it.

“Dean…”

“Hmm?”

“Do you know what sub-drop is?”

Dean’s eyes opened.  Ah.  Now Castiel’s attentions made sense.  Yes, he knew what sub-drop was.  When he’d started working at Sweet Things, he’d actually been required to sit through three “courses” about d/s dynamics and all the emotional shit that went with it.  There had even been a quiz at the end.  He’d barely passed, but whatever.

Dean settled down lower in the water.

“Yes, I know what sub-drop is.  But, I don’t get it.”

“Don’t get…what it is?”

“No, I mean, I don’t experience sub-drop.”

“You don’t?”

Castiel’s tone was so incredulous that Dean turned a glare on him.  Castiel quickly tried to cover up his disbelief by nodding with a poor attempt at appearing nonchalant.

“Of course, of course,” he said.  “You’re lucky then.  See, I had a sub once who used to get terrible sub-drop.”

Dean slid farther down into the water with his arms crossed over his chest, but Castiel pulled him in a little tighter.

“You see, he already had self-esteem issues.  He had low self-confidence and had trouble taking care of even the little everyday things.  Not like you.  You can not only take care of yourself, but your brother as well.”

Dean relaxed a little bit.  That was true.

“And because he was already so insecure, it made him question everything.  Especially things that brought him pleasure because he felt like he didn’t deserve it.  So, whenever we would have an—intense—scene, it always made him feel like there was something wrong with him.  That he had to be sick in the head to enjoy doing some of things we did together.  It’s a shame that society’s stigma about certain acts affected him so greatly.  If an act is between two consenting adults and nobody gets hurt, well, more than they enjoy, I don’t see why any of the parties involved should feel bad about what they do.  Human sexuality is complicated enough without individuals having to worry about what other, unrelated people think about it.”

Dean glanced at Castiel.  This was the longest he’d ever heard him speak at one time.  While it was nice to listen to his voice…

“What’s your point, Castiel?”

Castiel smiled and scratched his nails over Dean’s scalp again, making him relax further.

“Just sharing with you about that sub I used to have.  It made me more aware of sub-drop, though I’m still not great about picking up on it right away.  It’s a good thing you aren’t affected by it.”

“M’not.”

“Mmm.  I see.  Probably because you’re perfect.”

“What?” Dean asked with a slightly surprised laugh.

“You’re so good, Dean.  You put up with my nonsense and you behave so well.”  Castiel leaned in close, his lips brushing the shell of Dean’s ear.  “You look so pretty on your knees for me.”

Dean shivered.  “I know what you’re doing,” he murmured.

“Is it working?”

Dean shrugged and turned his head toward Castiel.  It had been days since they had kissed.  Maybe if he just leaned his head back a little bit more…Castiel’s hand slipped under his jaw and tilted his head up.

“Dean, I’ve never had a sub like you.  With you, I feel…”

He trailed off, his eyes searching Dean’s.  Then he moved just enough so that their lips met and then parted.  Dean turned so he could face him straight on.

“Cas—”

Castiel kissed him again and they easily melted into each other with the heat of the water and the burn of the kiss.  Dean became completely pliant, leaning his head all the way back as Castiel plundered his mouth.  His hand had a grip on his hair and held him in place, not that Dean could even entertain the idea of moving away.  He kissed back when he could, sucking on Castiel’s tongue, and pulling that full upper lip into his mouth.  Castiel shifted closer and their legs slotted together, erections brushing underneath the water.

Dean hummed and pulled himself closer to Castiel, rubbing their bobbing cocks together.  The water made it a little difficult to make solid contact, but he was actually just fine with what they were managing to do.  Castiel pulled back and kissed his left cheek several times.

“We can’t do this in the onsen.  I’d have to drain it completely and refill it and I do that on Sundays.”

“Oh, keep talking dirty to me.”

Castiel laughed and pulled back to look at him, hand stroking down the side of Dean’s face.

“Whatever you like, just not in the onsen.”

Dean sighed.  “Fine.  We can get out.  But, hey!  You do not get to punish me for calling you Cas; you cut me off.”

Castiel chuckled.  “I thought you liked my punishments,” he murmured with a kiss to Dean’s lips.

“Uhh…mmm.”

Dean wrapped an arm around Castiel’s neck and deepened the kiss.  Castiel ran his hands up Dean’s torso and gave his nipples a sharp pinch.  Dean moaned into Castiel’s mouth.  Castiel pulled back and kissed his cheek again.

“Come on.  I’ll take care of you, but not here.”

Dean sighed again, but complied with Castiel’s wishes.  Castiel handed him a full sized towel for once and they both dried off quickly.  Then Castiel led him by the hand to his bedroom.  He paused next to the bed and glanced nervously at Dean.

“I—um, if you’re not comfortable with…the sheets are new.  And the mattress cover.  It’s happened before, so I use waterproof…” he cut off, his face red and his head down.  “We can go to the living room.”

Dean realized Castiel was worried about him being too disgusted to get into his bed.  If there was one thing he knew about Castiel, it was that in his right mind he wouldn’t sleep in a bed that he didn’t consider to be clean and safe.  That was good enough for Dean.  He let go of Castiel’s hand and sat down on the bed, pushing himself back until he could splay out in front of him.  He let his knees fall apart, hoping Castiel would want to finally prep him and fuck him.  However, all the man did was lay on top of him, align their cocks, and gently rock against him as he resumed kissing him.  It was so good and relaxing and _gratifying_ , that he really didn’t mind that he didn’t get more.

~~~

Dean woke up to the sound of someone smacking their lips in his ear.  He turned his head slightly and saw that Castiel was pressed up against him, his face basically smashed into the side of Dean’s.  He appeared to still be asleep and Dean wondered what time it was.  Had they slept in past eight o’clock?  Was he technically off duty?  He was too comfortable to really care.  That was Castiel’s neurosis, not his.

Yesterday had been a good day.  After their pleasant frottage session in the morning, Castiel hadn’t ignored him while he worked.  He’d pulled up the website he used to shop for groceries and have them delivered to his home and asked Dean what ingredients he might like to include if he were going to cook anymore meals.  Dean suspected that meant he would be asked to cook more meals in the future, but he didn’t mind.  He’d rather eat his own cooking than Castiel’s sad attempts at making lunch.

Then they had spent a good portion of the day going through Castiel’s movie and TV subscription sites, of which he had many, to discuss if Dean had any titles he would recommend.  There weren’t many Castiel hadn’t seen.  He supposed being locked away in a condo for seven years left Castiel with a lot time to watch TV and movies.  He’d seen most everything Dean could come up with and actually had a much longer list to recommend to Dean.  He was a little appalled that Dean had heard of but never seen the “classics” from the 80’s.  He’d revealed the large flat screen TV hidden by a panel in the wall in his bedroom and insisted Dean watch _The Goonies_ and _The Princess Bride_ with him.

Dean couldn’t deny that lying with Castiel in bed while he petted his hair and they watched movies that were actually pretty funny felt really good.  But he also felt a little uneasy.  The whole scene was a little domestic.  However, as soon as he had that thought, that it was a “scene,” he’d been able to relax and play his part.  If Castiel wanted to leave off kinky one day and go domestic, he could do that for him.  It was a bit of relief to be able to help Castiel without everything having to run high with tension and intensity.

Yes, it had been a good day and they’d fallen asleep after a round of lazy handjobs (after washing up and brushing their teeth of course, it was still Castiel after all), but now he was awake and snuggled with Castiel and his first thoughts ran to whether or not he was still on the clock.  It kind of ruined the nice fuzzy effect, but this was still a job and they had very firm boundaries under which they had to operate.

He glanced at the nightstand and saw his phone sitting next to the pad of paper and pen that sat at exactly a forty-five degree angle from the edge of the table.  He moved the arm that wasn’t currently being used as a stuffed animal equivalent by the grown man hugging it numb, but couldn’t quite reach it.  He shimmied across the mattress a little bit and Castiel grunted and hugged his arm tighter.

“I set an alarm,” Castiel grumbled.  “It’s not time for you to go yet.”

Dean settled back into the pillows and looked over at Castiel.  “Castiel, I can’t feel my arm.”

The man buried his face against Dean’s neck and squeezed his arm even tighter.

“Seriously, I will let you do anything to me, just let me shake out my arm.”

Castiel made some grumpy sounds, but released Dean and rolled over to his other side.  Dean shook out his arm and made a face against the prickly sensation running up and down the limb.  He wiggled his fingers and shook out his hand.  Then he rolled over and draped his good arm over Castiel as he shuffled up against his back.  He was about to settle down into sleep, when Castiel took his hand and gently pulled it down until it brushed against his erection.  Dean smiled against Castiel’s neck.

“Can I do anything for you this morning, sir?”

“Get me off.”

Dean raised an eyebrow at Castiel’s lack of eloquence, but wrapped his hand around the thick, hot length of his erection.  He stroked it easily and kissed the warm shoulder under his lips.  Castiel shuffled back a bit and Dean felt his forming erection press against his ass.

“Put it between my thighs,” Castiel said, almost sounding sleepy.

Dean took offense to that and gave Castiel a hard, tight stroke with his hand and the man inhaled sharply and arched against him with a soft groan.  That was more like it.  Dean maneuvered himself until the head of his penis slipped in between Castiel’s thighs, just beneath his ass.  Then he scooted forward and gently rocked his hips in the same rhythm he pumped Castiel’s cock.  It was quiet and breathy and entirely too intimate in the early morning stillness, but it still felt good when he spilled between Castiel’s thighs, his teeth just lightly digging into Castiel’s shoulder.  Castiel pushed him back gently until he rolled over onto his back.  He climbed on top of Dean, and jerked himself off until he covered Dean’s chest with come.  Then he leaned down and kissed Dean, their tongues tangling in a playful game of control until a soft, delicate beeping filled the air.  It must be Castiel’s alarm, but Dean knew he would never hear that if he were actually asleep.  Castiel sat up with a frown and glared at his phone.

“We should have just enough time for a shower and breakfast, and then you’ll have to go.”

“Okay.”  Dean propped himself up on his elbows and Castiel looked down at him.  “Sir, may I taste your come?”

Castiel seemed to consider the request, and then he said, “Not this morning.  Wash up in the shower in the small bathroom.”

Dean tried to repress his huff of disappointment, but Castiel saw it.  He ran a finger though the spunk on Dean’s chest and then held it up to Dean’s lips.  He didn’t dare suck on that finger; Castiel had said no.

“You may,” Castiel said.

Dean immediately took Castiel’s finger into his mouth sucked off the bit of Castiel’s spend he’d been offered.  His eyes traveled down to where Castiel straddling him, and he could see his own come covering Castiel’s inner thighs.  His lips parted with a sudden wave of arousal and Castiel’s finger slipped from his mouth.  He lost sight of the beautiful view when Castiel leaned forward and kissed him briefly.  Then he climbed off Dean and out of the bed and headed for the door.

“I’m going to take a quick bath.  Please shower and start preparing whatever you like for breakfast.”

Dean obeyed, but he was on autopilot.  The sight of Castiel’s thighs was about all his mind would let him think about.  That’s not how this was supposed to work.  Castiel paid to pretend to own him for a few hours a day.  He could easily play the part of belonging to someone and saying, “I’m yours,” because he could kind of admit that it hit a kink button for him.  But feeling possessive of Castiel?  Was it normal for subs to feel possessive of their doms?  He hadn’t done the exclusivity thing before.  Maybe it was just all part and parcel.  He hoped so, otherwise he didn’t want to think about what it might mean that he had felt a primal need to pin Castiel to the bed, spread his legs apart, and put his claim of the man on display.

“Dean.”

“Yeah?”

Dean turned around, holding up a spatula with scrambled eggs clinging to the top.

“I was just asking you what you want to drink with breakfast,” Castiel said warily.

“J-juice is fine.  Orange.  Juice.  Orange juice.”

Castiel’s brows drew together as he retrieved two glasses from the cabinet.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes.  Just, you know, thinking about the errands I have to run today.  I’m sorry I was distracted.  I know I’m still on the clock.”

“It’s okay.  But, you might want to take the eggs off the heat before they dry out.”

“Oh, right.”

Dean served them eggs and the sausage he had nuked in the microwave.  He was going to have to talk to Castiel about buying precooked sausage.  It was just wrong.  Didn’t mean he wouldn’t eat it though.  He waited for Castiel to sit, and then knelt on the floor beside him.  Castiel tapped the table.  Dean repressed his frown and sat down in his seat.  Castiel stared blankly at the wall ahead of him as he ate slowly, and Dean wondered if something had happened to upset him.  Dean finished first because without Castiel dictating his pace, he reverted back to scarfing his food.  He waited patiently with his hands in his lap while Castiel ate, chewing thoughtfully (or hell, maybe blankly), and definitely taking his time.

When there was one sausage link left on his plate, he cut it into five pieces with his fork.  Then he picked up a piece in his hand, made eye contact with Dean, and nodded toward the floor.  Dean slipped out of his chair and got to his knees next to Castiel.  The man fed him the piece of sausage and he made sure to wrap his lips and tongue around the finger before drawing back and chewing.  Castiel didn’t say anything but the small smirk on his face let Dean know that he was happy with Dean’s flirtation.  He ate the four other pieces in much the same manner, taking more of Castiel’s finger into his mouth every time.  Soon he was just sucking on Castiel’s finger in the pantomime of a blowjob and Castiel did nothing but watch.

Dean’s eyes tracked the movement of Castiel’s other hand as it moved to settle over his groin.  His heel pressed down against something and Dean closed his eyes and hummed around the finger in his mouth.  Castiel chuckled and Dean opened his eyes.

“No time, Dean.”

He pulled his hand back and Dean let go of the finger with a small pop.  They hurriedly washed and dried the dishes and then Dean somewhat reluctantly put his clothes on and removed the collar.  Once it was safely stored away, Castiel took a couple of steps back and addressed him with that slightly pinched expression he wore when he felt uncomfortable.  He was probably uncomfortable because they were now in the uncharted territory of “equals.”

“I wanted to let you know that I have to cancel our hours for tonight.  I’ll still pay you for the full day, but I have to do a teleconference this evening with Japan because of the time difference.”

Dean was, to say the least, surprised by this information.

“You do business with Japan?”

“And with Europe and a little bit in Oceana.  I’m working with acquiring contacts in the Middle East right now, but I’m still undecided about South America and Africa.”

“I see.  Allow me to rephrase.  You do business?”

Castiel gave him a look.  “Yes, I have a job.  Do you think I can live like this off of disability checks?”

“N-no.  I guess I just…”

“Thought I spent all day being crazy?”

“Castiel.  I don’t think you’re crazy.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes.

“Alright, maybe a little bit.  But everybody is a little crazy in their own way, you know?”

“You included?”

“Especially me.”

Castiel nodded, frowning.  Then he checked his watch.  “It’s time for you to go.  So, I will see you on Monday.”

Dean nodded.  “Monday.  Eight a.m.”

Dean picked up his shoes and opened the door, but before he got all the way out Castiel called out to him.  He turned back and saw the man approaching him cautiously.  He held what looked like a business card in his hand.

“This is for you.”

Dean took the card and looked at it.  It had a couple of phone numbers and an email address printed on the front and nothing on the back.  Castiel stepped close enough to look at the card too, and pointed to each piece of information as he spoke.

“That is the landline for this condo.  You can call me on it.  If you want to text me something, you can text it to this number.  I don’t take phone calls on it though.  This is my email, which is obviously for longer written messages.”

“Uh.  Thanks.”

“I want you to have it so that you can contact me if you need to.  It’s in the contract that you need to inform me if you’ll be late or miss an appointment, so you probably should have already had this information.”

“Right.”

“But…I also want you to know that you can, um, if you want, I—I wouldn’t mind—I mean it wouldn’t bother me, not not bother me, I mean I would be happy to receive a message from you.  If you ever need to talk.  You know.  In case you,” Castiel met his eyes, “ever not experience sub-drop again.”

Dean pulled the card in tight against his hand.  He nodded, and then managed a smile.

“Thank you.  Really.”

Castiel nodded in response.  “Good.  Then, Monday.”

“Yep, see you then.”

They both leaned forward to peck each other on the lips and then froze.  Dean opened his mouth, but then figured it would be easier to say nothing.  He stepped out of the condo and Castiel shut the door after him.  _Whoops_ , he thought to himself with a small nervous laugh.  Aside from the misunderstanding at the beginning, they didn’t touch each other when the collar wasn’t on, meaning outside the terms of their arrangement.  Maybe the domesticity of their scene had carried over just a touch.  Dean shrugged off the mild discomfort as he stepped onto the elevator.

When he got to the garage he dug his keys out of his pocket and just barely refrained from whistling.  He was not going to be some sap who whistled when he was happy, and he was definitely not going to be some kind of needy freak who was happy because he’d played house with some weirdo all day.

“Hey there, Dean-o.”

Dean started, almost dropping his keys, and looked up.  Gabriel was leaning on the hood of the Dart, feet crossed at the ankle, arms crossed over his stomach, a hard look in his eyes that did not match the pleasant tone of his voice.

“H-hey, Gabriel.  I guess you’re here to see your brother?”

“Yep.  Why are you here?  I’m pretty sure I remember telling you that he canceled the arrangement.  So, imagine my surprise when I’m walking through the garage of his building and I see your POS car junking up the place.”

Dean would have taken offense, but the Dart was a really crappy car.

“I came to see him on Tuesday.”

Gabriel’s eyebrows shot up, and he didn’t look happy with the news.

“He canceled the contract because he thought I didn’t want to see him anymore.  Once I explained that I did want to continue, he said he did too.”

“How did you even get him to talk to you?”

“I—”  Did he tell him he threatened Castiel with Gabriel’s presence?  “I offered to anchor his bookshelves to the wall so that they wouldn’t fall over again.”

“And…he agreed to let you do that?”

“Yes.  Well, I mean, he made me wear a tight pair of jeans and no shirt to do it.  And then he offered me a Diet Coke.  Do you know why?”

Gabriel chuckled.  “You might be too young for him.”

Dean did take offense to that.  “I don’t think my age matters.  We’ve managed to work out a system.  And I think I’m helping him.  A little bit.  Isn’t that what you wanted?”

Gabriel shrugged and stood up.  “Yeah.  Yeah, you’re doing better than I thought you would.”

“Why do you sound so disappointed?”

“I guess…because when his subs stay for a short time the fall out is not as bad as when they leave him after he gets attached to them.”

Dean had to purse his lips on a retort about how Gabriel didn’t know that Dean was going to leave him.  Dean didn’t know that for sure.  He didn’t know if Castiel would send him away.

“I got the impression you intended for this arrangement to be long term.”

“I did.  I mean, I do.  That’s always the intent.  But I’ve just seen my brother hurt by too much in his short life.  What he’s been through…I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy, Dean.  Monday, was the worst I’ve seen him in a while, but it wasn’t even close to the worst he’s ever been.  Not by a long shot.  I guess I’m just worried what will happen if you two become too close, but then, it was my intention for exactly that to happen.

“You’re still a kid, Dean.  And I get that you haven’t been a kid for a long time.  You’ve never told me anything about your life, but I can read people really well and I can read between the lines.  And I can tell you’ve been through some shit.  And are probably still dealing with it.  But you’re twenty-three years old, Dean.  You’re a baby with your whole life ahead of you.  And, I think—”

“I appreciate your candor, Gabriel, but I’m not giving up this job.  I need the money and I feel safer here with Castiel than I do working some other jobs I’ve done.  I’m starting to learn that full time subbing for a single dom takes a larger emotional toll than quickies at a club, but…I’m not…”

He was going to say afraid, but that would be a lie.

“I’m not weak.  I had the opportunity to walk away, but that wouldn’t help either of us.”

Gabriel nodded and walked toward him.  He put a hand on Dean’s shoulder.  “I’m just trying to look out for you, kid.  I don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

“I appreciate your stake in this, Gabriel, but I think that’s outside of your control.”

Gabriel’s smirky expression faltered for a moment, but then it was back in place and he walked past Dean putting a hand in the air in farewell.

“Guess I better keep my nose out of it then.”

He pushed the call button for the elevator and looked over his shoulder.

“But, Dean, if you hurt my brother…there won’t be enough of you left for a DNA test.  You got me?”

Dean just gave Gabriel a bored look.  “I was wondering when you were going to give me the ‘hurt my brother and I’ll kill you’ speech.”

Gabriel just looked at him for a moment, and then stepped onto the elevator.  Dean let out a breath when the man was gone.  Shit.  Why was he digging himself deeper into this well of batshit?  He looked down at the card in his hand, fingered it for a moment, and then tucked it safely away in his wallet.  He had things he needed to do today, like bug the crap out of his little brother.  Dean grinned.

~~~

“Oh, my God, Dean!”

It was Sunday afternoon and Dean was starting to reconsider how great it was to be able to spend an entire weekend with a fifteen (almost sixteen, Dean, two weeks!) year old no matter how much he loved him.  He snickered as Sam threw his arms in the air and bitched at Dean as his character pummeled Sam’s into the ground.  It turned out that it might be better than he thought.

“I can’t believe you always play Pikachu.  It’s like cheating.”

“He’s in the game, isn’t he?  And you had the same opportunity to call him.”

“I think I liked it better when you slept through Sundays,” Sam grumbled.

Dean laughed.  “Wanna go another round?”

“No!  Uncle!”

Dean laughed again and stood up to turn the power off on their ancient Nintendo 64.  The screen flashed to the news.

“It’s been a week and a half since the ten year old’s disappearance, and attempts to locate his biological mother have been unsuccessful.  Anonymous sources from the police indicate that she is on the short list of persons of interest.  The mother, K—”

Dean flipped off the TV.  He wondered if the news would be talking about one missing kid so much if he wasn’t more or less local.  Sam still sat on the couch, playing with his cell phone, grinning like a loon.  Dean walked by nonchalantly and snatched the phone out of his hands.  Sam squawked.

“Give it back!”

He launched himself over the back of the couch and half dragged Dean to the floor.

“’I know, right? Mr. Wyatt is the coolest teacher.’  ‘I like that you’re so into literature.’  ‘Me too.  I mean that you are.  You’re so much cooler than other girls.’”

Dean laughed as Sam full on screamed and got the phone away from him.  He tucked it into his underwear and glared at his older brother.  Dean laughed from the floor.

“When did this start up, Sammy?  Is she a new transfer?  I’ve never seen you so love struck.”

“She’s not new.  She’s just…different now.”

“What, did she lose fifty pounds over break or something?”

“Oh my God, I’m not shallow like you.”

“So, she’s ugly then?”

“She’s not ugly!”

“I thought it didn’t matter.”

“It doesn’t.  She’s just…really cool, okay?  I don’t expect you to understand.”

Dean sobered slightly.  “Why not?”

“Because!  Girls have always liked you.  So, it’s easy to be confident around them.”

“Ah.”

Sam fidgeted with the waistline of his pants and then dug his phone out of his underwear.

“Do you think what I said was stupid?  Or like, offensive?  Like, I think girls in general can’t be smart or something?”

“What did she reply?”

“She didn’t,” Sam mumbled despondently.  Dean got to his feet and patted Sam’s shoulder.

“Well, that could mean one of two things.  One: she was insulted and now doesn’t want to talk to you.”

Sam deflated.

“Or, and I think this is more likely the case, she was incapable of replying because she was too busy squealing to her friends that Sam Winchester had called her cool.”

Sam peeked up at him from his silly, floppy hair.

“Think so?”

Dean shrugged.  “Eh, who knows?  Girl could be crazy.”

“Shut up!”

“Hey, you heard from Dad?”

“Nope,” Sam said with a smile.  “If I had I’d be a lot more grumpier.”

Dean whacked Sam lightly on the back of his head.  “Do your homework.”  Then he chewed anxiously on his bottom lip.  How long had it been now?  A couple of weeks?  It wasn’t Dad’s record, but it was an unusually long time for him to be away.  Dean decided to make enough dinner for three just in case.


	7. Chapter 7

The next week at Castiel’s had considerably less drama than the first two, and yet…

Monday Castiel had been carrying a soft riding crop.  He’d flicked and swatted at Dean with it all day, giving him nice, easy blows with just a bit of sting to them.  He’d focused mainly on his thighs and hips, but occasionally he’d get him across the butt.  Castiel mostly worked and would swat Dean if his attention wandered.  Dean had made fish tacos for lunch and had had to sit in his own chair to eat.  He hadn’t been happy about that, but tacos weren’t exactly something that could be easily handfed.  Castiel’s praise of Dean’s skills had more than made up for it though.  Except he couldn’t have been too happy because all afternoon all he did was flick at Dean with the crop and never once touched him or told him to take off the yoga pants.  Dean left feeling a little crabby, and that feeling wasn’t helped by Castiel politely asking him not to jack off at home.  They both knew Castiel had no authority to make Dean do (or not do) anything outside of their scheduled hours together, but he’d implied so hard that it would be worth Dean’s while.

Dean suspected that meant that Castiel would take care of him on Tuesday, but all he did was pull out a small, three-lashed flogger and snap and flick it at him all day long.  It had a little more heft to it than the crop, but it was barely more than an annoyance.  Except when Castiel would flick his wrist just right and it was snap smartly against his skin.  Well, pants.  Castiel still hadn’t wanted him naked.  Dean had deliberately made ridiculously dainty cucumber finger sandwiches for lunch, but he’d still had to sit in the chair.  At the end of the day, Dean had been vibrating with—not arousal exactly, but _need_ , and Castiel still hadn’t touched him.  Castiel had asked if he had touched himself the night before.  He’d said he hadn’t and Castiel had actually fucking crooned at him like he was a cute little puppy who had learned to piddle on the papers, and then had the gall to ask Dean to refrain again.

Wednesday Dean had decided he didn’t need intent from Castiel.  He’d allowed himself to get immersed in the bathing, and could easily have gotten off from the light touches, but Castiel backed off every time he noticed Dean getting too into it.  He’d come out of the bathing even grumpier than he gone into it because then he had an erection that he’d just known was going to be ignored.  Castiel had brought out another flogger, this one a cat o-nine-tails.  The lashes were longer and a little bit stiffer than the previous day’s toy.  These lashes he had easily felt through the pants, and they were true lashes now as opposed to little snaps.  Castiel had also made more solid contact with his ass more often, but most of the blows were on the backs of his thighs.  After he had gotten home (after once again being asked not to touch himself) he’d taken off his clothes in the bathroom and gone a little weak in the knees at the fading red marks on his thighs.  He’d been hard and so fucking horny, but he’d held onto the towel rack until his body accepted that it was not going to get what it wanted.  Needed.  Fortunately Sam had had a club that day, so he’d been able to sulk in the bathroom for almost an hour.

Thursday had been a little better.  For a few moments.  He had resigned himself to the fact that Castiel was playing some sort of game with him, and that eventually there would be a payoff, but the bastard had brought out a paddle.  It wasn’t large, but it had several holes in it like Swiss cheese.  On occasion it had been used with enough force that it whistled through the hair when it moved.  The loud, resounding smacks it had made when it made contact with his butt had been satisfying, and yet, he’d still been fucking clothed.  Castiel had paddled him while he’d attempted to make gnocchi and he’d had to give up the ghost on that one and turn it into a mushy potato soup.  Definitely not a finger food, but it had felt kind of nice to squirm on his chair as his ass had throbbed.  Before he’d left on Thursday though, he’d begged Castiel to give him something, anything, and the asshole had fucking kissed his cheek.  Castiel hadn’t even had to ask him not to touch himself; he’d just him told he wouldn’t and walked out the door, hard and frustrated, and wondering what would happen if Castiel found a dead bug on the center of his bed.

It was Friday morning and Dean almost hesitated before knocking on Castiel’s door, but the thought that he might get sent home again made him do it.  Castiel answered promptly and watched him carefully as he collared and undressed himself.  There was a palpable charge in the atmosphere.  Something was different today, Dean could feel it in the way Castiel’s eyes traveled over his body like he was making plans, but he made no move to disclose that to Dean just yet.

He made Dean wash and dry himself, but he didn’t allow him to get dressed.  Dean waited anxiously for Castiel to touch him or get out another toy, but he didn’t do either and Dean’s half-erect cock was ignored.  Castiel didn’t work.  He produced an extremely large tome from his shelves titled _Middlemarch_ and told Dean to sit on a couch and read it.  Castiel sat across from him and simply watched him.  The book appeared to be about some uptight prudish girl named Dorothea, but there was also a fuck ton of exposition about Victorian era politics and the class system in England.  It was too dense for Dean to get through more than a few sentences before his mind wandered and he had to keep forcing his attention back to the pages.  It also didn’t help that Castiel just sat on the couch and watched him with dark eyes, his thumb occasionally massaging the bulge in his pants.

For lunch Castiel laid out an intricate recipe that involved fucking squab.  He asked if Castiel knew that meant they’d be eating pigeon, but the man simply nodded at the recipe.  It took nearly an hour and a half to prep, an hour to cook, and he was starving by the time it was ready.  He sat at his place at the table, ready to dig in, and Castiel snapped a finger at him and then the floor.  He had half a mind to tell Castiel to fuck off and that no one treated him like a dog, but he had a feeling that fight would delay food, so he got on his knees and waited.  And waited.  Castiel ate slowly, and never offered Dean anything.  He complimented Dean’s cooking and praised the flavors.  Dean’s mouth watered and his eyes tracked Castiel’s hand each time it moved from the plate to his mouth.

Hours later (maybe it was twenty minutes), Castiel peeled a juicy hunk of meat out of Dena’s squab and offered it to him.  Dean jumped at the chance to not only eat, but to feel Castiel’s skin.  He realized with a jolt that aside from the kiss on the cheek yesterday, they hadn’t had skin to skin contact all week.  The bathing had been done with wash cloths and Castiel hadn’t washed his hair.  The floggers and crop and paddle had been the only things that Castiel had touched him with outside of the bathroom.  Dean was touched starved, which had been exacerbated by the denial to touch himself.  He had no idea what Castiel was up to, but now that he had the chance to lick and suck on Castiel’s skin, he wasn’t going to blow it.

He barely tasted the food because he was so busy concentrating on touching Castiel.  He wasn’t ready for the meal to be over when the man started stacking their plates.  Dean let out a whine, and almost immediately Castiel slapped him across the face.  Dean was startled by the quickness of the blow, but once again, while it had sounded bad, it barely hurt at all.

He obediently washed and dried the dishes, but when he was ordered to sit down and read more of the novel, he complained.  Castiel slapped him and he complained again.  He did it until his cheek was stinging and his cock was dribbling precome across his belly and he was sitting on the couch in a daze.  Fuck, now that he knew he was capable of coming untouched, he wondered if Castiel could slap him to an orgasm.

“Are you ready to read now?” Castiel asked.

Dean nodded, not quite sure he could take another slap.  It wasn’t that Castiel was hurting him, but he felt high from the endorphins flooding his system and couldn’t quite get himself together enough to manage another complaint.  He held the book in his hands, but if in two hours he read a single page he was also a koala’s uncle.  He was able to calm down somewhat, his dick settling somewhere at soft, but ready to spring to life at a moment’s notice.  His head cleared a little bit and the stinging on his cheek completely faded, but he was still in an extremely relaxed state when Castiel informed him that it was four o’clock.

Dean stood up, put the book back on the shelf where it belonged, and walked to the front door.  As he opened the footlocker, Castiel asked, “What are you doing, Dean?”

“It’s four o’clock,” he replied, a little confused.

“It’s Friday, Dean.”

Dean let the trunk lid fall shut from lax fingers.  He swallowed thickly as he looked at Castiel.  It was his twenty-four hour shift.  Castiel crooked a finger at him, and headed for the hallway.  Dean followed, but the whole situation felt somewhat surreal.  They turned left, and Dean wondered if Castiel had work to do or if he was going to punish Dean for being ornery.  But he stopped at the first door.  Dean’s heart leapt wildly about his chest as he watched Castiel turn the unlocked knob of the playroom door.  It opened silently and Castiel stepped inside, turning on a dim light that had a slight pink tinge to it.  Dean stepped forward and got his first look at the room.

Nondescript.  Not the word one typically looked for when describing a sex playroom.  The walls, ceiling, and floor were dark grey.  The floor and ceiling appeared to be made out of the kind of springy material modern tracks were built with in order to reduce the impact on runners’ bodies.  There were round, black plastic pieces dotting the floor and ceiling that Dean assumed were covering places where things could be anchored.  The walls were padded with large squares of material that were kind of, sort of reminiscent of the padded rooms mental patients were thrown into on TV.

The room was smaller than he had been expecting.  In fact it was smaller than the dimensions of the other rooms suggested it should be.  Then he saw the seams in the walls.  The seams were here and there; some the size of drawers, some doors, and some irregular shapes.  The walls could be “opened,” and there was no telling what was hidden behind them.  What wasn’t hidden though was the bench in the middle of the room.  Dean recognized what it was for; he’d used one a couple of times at Sweet Things.  This one, though, looked brand new and like it was covered in actual leather and not pleather.  Two shelves for knees were about two feet off the floor.  The large, wide middle created a nice arch for a person to lean over, and there were cloth covered straps to hold onto at the bottom of the bench.

“Do you know what that is?” Castiel asked.

“Yes, sir.”

“Do you know how to get on it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Get on it.”

Dean stepped into the room and couldn’t stop himself from glancing over his shoulder as the door shut.  It was even dimmer now.  He could see everything just fine, but it was like the light at twilight where it was actually harder to see than in light or darkness because the human eye couldn’t figure out which one to adjust for.  He knelt down on the bench, took a breath, and leaned over the arch.  He grabbed onto the straps and laid his cheek against the soft leather.

He jerked slightly as Castiel reached a hand between his body and the bench in order to direct Dean’s now fully erect cock down so that it wasn’t squashed under him.  Then Castiel laid a hand on his back and stroked him soothingly.

“What’s your safe word, Dean?”

“Six—sixty-seven.”

“Shall we begin?”

“Yes, please, sir.”

Castiel’s fingertips pressed against his skin for a few more moments, and then they were gone.  Dean could feel that he was shaking, but he couldn’t tell if it was from excited anticipation or the unease of not knowing what was going to happen.  He could only assume after the build up from the week that he going to get his ass wailed on, but what would he use?  About the only thing left was an actual whip.  He wasn’t sure if that was something he could handle, but hell, he was willing to try.  He squeezed his eyes shut.  Surely Castiel wasn’t going to make him wait.  Or not reward him for being so good (mostly good) all week.  He heard a soft whispering sound.  It was him, repeating, “Please,” over and over.

“Shh,” Castiel shushed him, his hands smoothing over Dean’s back.  “Shh, Dean.”

Dean stopped murmuring and concentrated on his breathing.  His hands squeezed tightly around the straps.  His eyes flew open when he felt Castiel’s fingertips brush lightly over the globe of one ass cheek.  He sighed and relaxed with the touch.  He’d been craving this.

Out of nowhere Castiel’s palm smacked squarely on his left ass check.  Dean let out some kind of (unsexy) noise, his body going rigid and then relaxing.  Castiel’s palm landed on his right cheek with a stinging blow.  Dean could feel the smile on his face as he tried not to tense up as he waited for the next hit.  When it came it landed with a thud that reverberated deep into his muscles.  He let out broken groan.

“You good, Dean?”

“Yes, yes…m’good.  Not even a one yet.  Sixty-seven is a long fucking ways away.”

“I see.”

Castiel’s hand began a steady pattern at that point, alternating from left to right, always connecting solidly and heavily so that his whole body moved with the force.  The steadiness meant he knew when to expect the blows, but that did nothing to lessen the euphoria that was slowly enveloping him like a warm, thick fog.  Then without warning, Castiel switched to delivering sharp spanks that stung even more on top of his already throbbing muscles.  He squirmed and moaned as his dick rubbed against the bench.  His hands clenched the straps so tightly he couldn’t feel his fingers anymore.  Then Castiel stopped.  Dean waited and writhed.

“C-Cas…Castiel—ah!”

Castiel’s hand slapped him hard on the left butt cheek.  He registered that it was painful, but all he felt was an intense sensation in his groin that he wasn’t sure if he could describe as pleasure, but it certainly pushed him closer to orgasm.  The hand came down even harder on his right buttocks.

“Oh, God…”  Dean’s supplication trailed off into a long, moaning whine as Castiel spanked him over and over, warming his ass and pushing him to the point where he wasn’t sure if he could take anymore but the thought of stopping was unbearable.  His cock was screaming between his legs and slipping against the leather that was covered in slick precome.

“Cas, Cas…”

Both of Castiel’s hands landed hard on his ass, grabbing the cheeks and spreading them apart.

Dean tried to speak but only a sob came out of him.  Sweat dripped down his forehead and over his cheeks, and…Dean hitched in a desperate breath.  He was crying.  Fuck, he’d never cried during sex before.

“Cas…please…”

Then he felt the wide, hot flat of Castiel’s tongue lave over his puckered entrance.  Dean keened and pulled against the straps.  Castiel slapped his ass.

“Hold still.”

Dean sobbed and leaned forward, clutching the bench desperately.  Castiel’s tongue licked at him like he was a fucking ice cream cone.  His hands would occasionally pull back to slap his ass and then spread him wider apart.  Dean’s whole body jerked and his breath caught in his throat when Castiel’s tongue breached his entrance.  One of Cas’ hands moved immediately so that a finger could assist in working him open.  Then Castiel pushed forward, pressing his face between Dean’s ass cheeks, his tongue delving as deeply as Dean could get his own fingers.  His hand cracked against Dean’s ass one more time and Dean cried out and pushed his hips back onto Castiel’s tongue.

“Cas, fuck, Cas…I’m…oh fuck, oh fuck…”

Dean closed his eyes, clenched the straps, and felt his legs quivering around the bench.  Castiel’s mouth began sucking at his rim, a finger slid in, and one more solid thwack landed on his left ass cheek.  Dean screamed.  He screamed so loud he knew his throat would be raw in the morning.  And he came blindingly hard.  Castiel’s finger massaged his prostate and worked him through it, drawing it out, and making him feel like he just might come forever.

Dean didn’t know how long he hovered on the edge of consciousness, his mind still enveloped in that fog of lust, his body quaking with aftershocks.  He did know he wasn’t quite recovered yet when he felt Castiel’s cock slipping and sliding along the heated, throbbing skin of his ass.  A small whimper escaped him.

“Yes, yes, please, Cas, do it.  Fuck me, please.  Castiel, my God, please, please, fuck me.  Put it in, take me.  Please, please…”

Dean could hear himself begging, but he couldn’t make himself stop.  He’d never begged to be fucked before.  He’d played the game where he’d said what his partners wanted to hear, but he’d never meant it.  He’d never truly needed someone to use his body.

“Cas, please, you have to…”

Castiel moved against him gracefully, soft breathy moans falling hotly just behind his ear.  He arched up into Castiel, and it wasn’t long before Dean felt the warm evidence of Castiel’s release on his back.  Dean started sobbing uncontrollably.  He wanted—needed—Castiel to be inside him, but he wasn’t going to do it.  Then Castiel draped himself over Dean’s back and whispered praise in his hear.  Words like beautiful and good and perfect.  But if he were those things, why didn’t Castiel want him?

“Sh, Dean, shh, honey.  It’s alright.  Can you relax your fingers for me?  There you go, shh, I know, I know it hurts.  Relax, honey, just relax.  I’ll take care of you, you can let go now.  You can let go…”

~~~

Dean woke up slowly.  He was warm and comfortable and didn’t see any particular reason why he should be awake now.  He looked up at the ceiling and saw that the long tubular bulbs were gently fading in like an imitation of sunrise.  He started to shift onto his side and drew up short with a soft hiss.  His body was sore, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t felt before and kind of enjoyed.  His ass, however…he eased back onto his stomach and concentrated on sorting through the sensations.

His ass hurt, plain and simple.  The deep tissue muscles ached and his skin had that feeling like it was actually radiating heat, kind of like having a sunburn.  He raised his head and looked at the man sleeping next to him; the man who had done this to him.  He smiled.  There was nothing that he was feeling at the moment that wasn’t exactly what he wanted.

He examined Castiel’s face.  This moment was the first time he’d ever seen him completely relaxed, without out his fears putting tension at his mouth and eyes.  He looked younger than his thirty-four years.  Impulsively Dean leaned over and placed a light kiss on his cheekbone.  The man didn’t stir.  This intrigued Dean.  He placed a kiss on his chin: nothing.  Carefully, mindful of his sore bottom, Dean scooted closer and began kissing over Castiel’s skin.  He’d never really had the opportunity to explore him before, and he really liked how soft Castiel’s skin was.  How it wrapped around clearly defined muscle.  Apparently the gym equipment in the office wasn’t just for show.

Dean carefully shimmied his way down the bed, kissing Castiel’s collar bone, his left breast, his sternum, just above his belly button.  He looked up.  Castiel’s face had creased into a confused frown in his sleep.  Dean repressed a chuckle and kissed his stomach, his abdomen.  He slid down a little bit farther, ducking under the covers and licking and kissing a hip bone.  Castiel really ought to go around naked more often.  Above him, he heard a sleepy hum.

“Think you’re ready to add somnophilia to the contract now?” Castiel asked, his voice dragging out of him.

Dean smiled and kissed the skin just above the base of his penis.

“Sir, may I suck you off?”

Castiel groaned softly, grabbed Dean’s head with both hands, and shoved his face in his crotch.  Dean took that as a “yes” and promptly took Castiel into his mouth.  It didn’t take much coaxing to get the man hard, and he was still not quite fully alert, so he came pretty fast.  At least, Dean hoped it was just the early morning haze affecting him and that he had a little bit more stamina than that.  Maybe that’s why he wouldn’t fuck him.  Dean chuckled as he swallowed the last of Castiel’s semen and wiped off his lips with the back of his hand.  He sat up, wincing slightly as his ass protested the movement, and straddled Castiel’s legs.

“Sir, may I sit in your lap?”

Castiel nodded, his hands running up and down Dean’s thighs, his fingers playing with the fine hairs on his legs.  Dean sat down gingerly, letting his erection display itself prominently.  Castiel kept stroking his thighs and Dean rocked very, very gently in his lap.

“Sir, may I touch myself?”

Castiel swallowed.  He attempted to say yes, and then had to clear his throat and try again before it came out.

Dean took himself in hand and moved lightly in Castiel’s lap, enjoying the feel of his soft member on his ass more than he thought he would.  Dean worked himself quickly, eyes staying on Castiel’s face.  The man stared right back at him.  Dean moved with a little more force, the burn on his bottom not doing much to detract from his pleasure.  With a hand on Castiel’s stomach, Dean rode Castiel harder, his other hand flying over his cock.

“Sir, may I come?” Dean forced out on a harsh breath.

“Yes!”

Dean sat back and jerked his cock roughly as he shot his load onto Castiel’s chest.  He came down with small, pleased sounds, grinding his ass on Castiel’s lap.  Even though he was still flaccid, Dean could feel him between his ass cheeks.

“Castiel…I want you inside me.”

“Okay.”

Dean’s eyes snapped open, hope flaring in his chest.  Then he realized that Castiel was just acknowledging his desire and didn’t appear to have any current plans to do anything about it.  He deflated a little and finally came to a rest in Castiel’s lap.  The man used his core muscles to sit up and rub his hands up and down Dean’s arms.  He kissed his cheek.

“We’ve got time for that.  But not now.  What we do have time for, is punishment.  I thought maybe you’d be a little too sore and worn out for it this morning, but you appear pretty spunky.”

Dean frowned but didn’t move away from the feel of Castiel’s stubble dragging along his cheek as he kissed him.

“Why do I deserve punishment?”

“You called me Cas again.”

“I see.  So, I need to be punished for calling you Cas.”

“It’s in the contract,” Castiel said, his lips passing over Dean’s on the way to his other cheek.

“So, then I get to punish you too.”

Castiel pulled back and looked him in the eye.  “What do you mean?”

“You called me honey.”

The expression that appeared on Castiel’s face was very similar to the one Sam often got when he was caught sneaking cookies before dinner.

“You, uh, you heard that, huh?”

“Oh, yeah.  I heard it.  Twice.”

“Uh…”

Dean put his arms around Castiel’s neck and tilted his head as he looked at him.  Castiel seemed to be trying to do mental calculus.  Finally he pulled Dean’s arms away from him and slid out from under him.

“I’m hungry.  Are you hungry?  We should eat breakfast before you go.”

Dean sprawled back into the bed.  “Whatever you say, Cas.”

“Careful,” Castiel warned, but there was warmth in his voice.

Dean smiled and stretched out across the bed.  The sheets felt smooth and cool on the sensitive skin of his butt.  It felt nice.

What didn’t feel nice were his jeans.  He typically went home commando after his hours with Castiel were over because the thought of putting on even thirty minute used underwear kind of grossed him out.  Perhaps he should have reconsidered whether being slightly grossed out did in fact outweigh the benefit of soft, worn cotton on his still smarting ass as opposed to denim.  Fortunately the drive home wasn’t long and he was able to change into a pair of silk boxer shorts (that he only owned because of an ex-girlfriend), which had the desired effect of soothing his still warm skin.

Even though he’d slept deeply for most of the night at Castiel’s, he still crashed into bed and fell asleep almost instantly.  He awoke a couple hours later to the sound of video games and voices.  A little groggy, he walked out to the living, not even thinking about his state of undress.  That is until he saw that Sam was on the couch with two other boys playing a three person game of _Smash Brothers_.

“Morning, Dean!” Sam chirped, not taking his eyes off the game.

His two friends glanced back at him.  One of them immediately returned to the game, but the other did a double take and his jaw dropped a little.  Dean looked down and saw he was in nothing but a pair of flashy red boxers.  He excused himself and got dressed.  When he got back, the game was on pause and the boys were raiding the kitchen.  It was only eleven, but he remembered when he’d been fifteen he’d been hungry all the time.

“Would you guys rather order pizza?” Dean asked, fearing for the order of his refrigerator as the boys dug around in it.

Sam’s head popped up.  “Can we?”

“Yeah.  Order three.  Make one a meat lover for me.”

“Okay.”

Sam nearly slammed the door on his friends’ heads and picked up the phone to call Dominos.  Dean looked at the other two boys.  One was cute in a generically cute white boy way, and the other was an adorable Asian kid.

“I’m Dean,” Dean introduced himself.  “Sam hasn’t quite learned what manners are.”

“I’m Kevin,” the Asian boy said, sticking out his hand.

Dean shook it and the other kid said his name was Andy.

“So, are you guys in Sam’s grade?”

“Well, we _were_ ,” Andy said, nudging Kevin.

Kevin ducked his head shyly.

“He skipped a grade,” Andy explained.

“Wow.  That’s impressive.”

Kevin shrugged.

Dean glanced over his shoulder at Sam who was pacing around the living room as he placed his order.  Dean leaned on the counter and whispered to his brother’s friends conspiratorially.

“So, do you guys know this ‘Jess’ person?”

“Jess?” Andy laughed.  “You mean the girl that has Sam wrapped around her finger?”

Dean grinned.  “Sounds like her.”

“She’s really nice,” Kevin interjected.  “She’s not like someone who uses boys to get things.  I think she likes him too.”

“Does she now.  Do you think they’ll be able to get their shit together on their own?”

“Probably,” Andy said, “but that doesn’t mean it wouldn’t be fun to mess with them anyway.”

Dean laughed.  “I like the way you think, Andy.”

Dean and Andy chuckled evilly.  Kevin just looked nervous.

“Food’s ordered,” Sam announced.  “Should be here in like thirty or forty minutes.”  He looked at the faces in front of him.  “What?”

Dean and Andy snickered and Kevin was torn between amusement and loyalty to his friend.

“Oh, my God what,” Sam said, worry leaking into his voice.

Dean and Andy just started laughing and Kevin shrugged a shoulder.

“You guys suck,” Sam groused.

Dean didn’t want to think about how much he enjoyed spending time with a bunch of fifteen (sixteen in _one_ week, Dean) year olds, but he had fun beating the snot out of Sam and Andy in _Smash Brothers_.  Only Kevin gave him a run for his money.  At 3:30, the boys were all still there, but Dean told them they could stay while he headed into work for a few hours but that they better not trash the place.  They all chorused that they would be perfectly behaved angels.  Dean rolled his eyes at that and headed off for his four hour Saturday afternoon shift with Castiel.

The man seemed to be in a fairly—stable mood, if not necessarily a good one.  He managed to pull out of Castiel that his landlord had informed him that the water would be shut off tomorrow morning to repair the pipes.  He seemed to be taking the news pretty well if the containers of water covering every square inch of kitchen counter space were any indication.

To distract himself, Castiel led Dean into the play room and opened up several of the wall drawers he’d assumed existed the previous night.  They were all empty.  That’s when Castiel brought over several brown boxes.  Some were from Amazon and some had nondescript company names, like the kind sex shops used when they shipped products so as not to embarrass their clientele.  Sure enough, the boxes were packed with a stunning array of sex toys.

“I have to buy new ones with every sub.  Bleach can do a lot of things, but it can’t erase memories.”

Dean wasn’t sure if that meant Castiel couldn’t get rid of the thought that the butt plug he was shoving up someone’s ass had once been shoved up someone else’s, or if he actually had too many fond (or bad) memories of the person he’d use the toy on to use it on someone else.  Either way, there was a larger selection of brand new sex toys that had to be sorted than Dean had ever seen outside of an actual sex shop.

Castiel took the time to explain what each toy did (not that Dean didn’t already know about most of them) and why he chose it and why he picked the color he did.  It was an oddly clinical assessment of butt plugs, dildos, vibrators, anal beads, cock rings, and prostate massagers, but Dean’s imagination ran wild with ideas of how to use the items on himself.  He was a little annoyed Castiel wouldn’t give him specifics pertaining to their future activities and tried to get him to elaborate just a little bit.  However, the man kept right on with his dry exposition, like Dean wasn’t even talking.

They had to open all the packages, save any instructions that might have come along with it, wipe it down with an alcohol swab, and then arrange it in the lined and internally lighted drawers by type, size, and color.  Dean wasn’t sure what difference the colors would make, but apparently Castiel had something in mind.

When they were done, they had to break down the boxes and store them in the closet next to the kitchen with the other recycling and trash.  Dean finally learned that Castiel handled his trash by paying his landlord to pick it up from outside his apartment on Thursday evenings.  Dean also learned that spending a lengthy amount of time sorting sex toys that would eventually be used on him but not being able to actually use any of them, resulted in him being aroused and crabby.  He wheedled at Castiel until he got a soft slap on the face.  Then the man conceded and pushed him onto one of the couches.

They made out like teenage virgins who didn’t really know how to move beyond kissing and light fumbling.  Not that it wasn’t pleasant; it was extremely pleasant.  Which was perhaps why Dean had to rush out the door at 8:10 as they had completely ignored the time.  There was a large, red mark on his collar bone, just barely hidden beneath his T-shirt.  He kept pressing his fingers against the mark on the whole drive home just to feel the dull ache that accompanied it.

When Dean got home, he was relieved to find that Sam’s friends had left.  They’d been nice kids, but it was nice to have one’s home to one’s self.  Dean scowled as he wondered if Castiel felt that way when he left.

“What up, Dean?” Sam asked as he kept his eyes focused on some show on Comedy Central.

“Hey.  Did you eat dinner?”

“Had leftover pizza.”

“Hm.  Tomorrow I guess you’ll be on a lemon juice, cayenne pepper cleanse or something.”

Sam snorted.  “Just because I like to vary my diet with healthy foods doesn’t mean I’m some kind of weirdo health nut.  Besides, shouldn’t you be encouraging me to eat my greens or something?”

Dean made a face and plopped beside him on the couch.  “No need with you, kid.”  Dean patted his leg.

They watched the program in companionable silence.  Dean wasn’t sure what his brother found so funny about the show, but he was content to sit beside him and feel…happy.  Shit.  He was happy.  Sam was doing well.  He had a good paying job that he enjoyed—perhaps a bit more than he should but that wasn’t worth getting upset over.  He hadn’t had to clean up any vomit from the bathroom floor in a while.  He felt bad that he was happy their father was gone, but it certainly did make life a lot more—

Something thudded heavily on the door to their apartment.  The brothers whipped their heads around at the sound.  The doorknob rattled violently.

“Dean, is that—”

“Go pack a bag.”

Dean stood up as John began drunkenly yelling and pounding at the door.

“Dean—”

“Sammy.  Go pack a bag.  Now.”

Sam leapt off the couch and ran for his room.  Dean quickly opened the door before his father disturbed their neighbors.  He stumbled into the room and Dean caught one arm to help him keep his balance.

“Why’s door locked?”

“We always keep the door locked, Dad.  You must have misplaced your keys.  Sorry about that.”

“Sorry?  I didn’t—” John stumbled into the kitchen bar and burped loudly.

“You want some water, Dad?”

“Need a drink,” he muttered and staggered into the kitchen.

Dean took the opportunity to grab Sam’s arm when he appeared in the hallway to pull him past their distracted father.

“Go find a friend to stay with,” Dean said.  “I don’t care who.  Text me when you find someone.  If you can’t find anyone, wait in the lobby and I’ll come get you and we’ll go stay in a hotel.”

“Dean, I don’t want to leave you alone with him.”

Something crashed in the kitchen.  Dean pulled open the door and pushed Sam through it.

“It’s easier if I don’t have to worry about you.  Please.  Go find a find a friend and text me, okay?”

Sam nodded.  “Be careful.”

“Don’t worry.  He won’t hurt me.”

Dean shut the door and locked it, and then returned to the kitchen to find his father drinking from a bottle of Scotch.  A bottle of really good, expensive Scotch.  The man placed the bottle on the counter and struggled toward the living room.  Dean hid the bottle in the cabinet with the disposable plasticware.  Then he quickly followed his father and intercepted him before he could get to the TV.

“Wanna see the news!” he bellowed.

“Okay,” Dean said.  “I’ll turn it on.  Do you want to sit down and watch?”

John shoved Dean away.  “Don’t tell me what to do!”

Dean didn’t argue.  The man turned and tripped over the coffee table.  He barely caught himself and Dean reached forward to help him.  When his hand touched his father’s shoulder, the man shouted and flailed an arm out.  His elbow hit Dean in the face and knocked him to the ground.  It took a couple of second for his head to clear and then he raised a hand and wiped up the blood spilling from his split lip.

“Dean!”

Dean flinched and looked up.  His father looked horrified and knelt next to him.

“Dean, who did this to you?  Who hit you?!  I’ll kill ‘em.  I’ll fucking kill him!  I won’t lose you too!”

John hugged him around the neck, the reek of alcohol and filth flooding Dean’s senses.  It had been a long time since he’d been this morose about Mary Winchester.  Dean wondered what had set him off.

“Can’t lose another,” John murmured.  “Barely knew ‘im.”

“Come on, Dad,” Dean sniffed, irritated to find that his nose was bleeding too.

He helped the man get to his feet, but by this point he had to do most of the work because John was mostly passed out.  He struggled to get him to his father’s en suite bathroom, and then into the tiny tub.  Just in time too as the man leaned forward and vomited.  Dean rubbed his back while he heaved several more times.  Then he sat back against the wall in exhaustion.  A dark, wet spot formed on the crotch of his jeans, and then urine ran down the tub to mix with the draining vomit.  Dean sighed and turned on the water, testing it until it got warm.  He undressed and bathed his semi-conscious father, and then helped him into a clean pair of boxers before the man crashed onto his bed.

“S’not fair,” John mumbled into his pillow.  Then he tried to sit up.  “You tell me who hurt you, Dean.”  Dean shushed him and tried to get him to lie back down.  “Won’t let someone hurt you.  Or Sammy.  Failed—I failed.”  He settled down on the pillow.  “Can’t fail you.”

Dean stood back, a little confused by his father’s tirade.  He’d never heard him talk like this before.  He’d accidentally hit Dean with his flailing before, but he’d never been so confused by what had happened.  He’d certainly never demanded to find the culprit so that he could kill him.  He was always worse when he’d been gone for long stretches.  He just wished he knew how to make him stay so that he could keep a closer eye on him.

With a weary sigh, Dean set about cleaning up his father’s bathroom.  Then he threw his clothes into the wash and set it to run.  He’d worry about drying them in the morning.  Then he took a shower of his own and finally crashed into bed almost three hours after his father’s arrival.  He picked up his phone and saw a text from Sam asking him to call when he could.  Dean pushed his brother’s contact info and put the phone to his ear.

“Dean?  Dean is everything okay?”

“Yeah, he’s fine.  He’s sleeping.”

“Are _you_ okay?”

“Yeah.  No problems.  What about you?  Did you find a place to stay?”

“Yeah, I’m at Kevin’s.  Mrs. Tran said I could stay.”

“Good.  Just spend the night and don’t worry about rushing home in the morning, okay?”

“Alright.  Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.  He was just sad tonight.”

“Okay.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Goodnight, Sam.”

“’Night, Dean.”

Dean hung up and raised a hand to gingerly prod at his swelling lip.  He’d examined the injury in the mirror and determined that his nose had just had a broken blood vessel or something.  It didn’t hurt and it had stopped bleeding quickly.  His lip wasn’t completely split, just cut on the upper right side.  But the skin from lip to nose was swollen and tender and he knew it was going to bruise.  He sighed and dropped his arm to his side.  His hand bumped his phone.  He looked down at it.  He picked it up and slowly scrolled through his list of contacts.

Novak, Castiel.

This wasn’t sub-drop.  Not that he got sub-drop.  But Castiel said he could call if he needed to talk.  Said he would be happy to hear from him.  But it was after midnight and Castiel had a schedule.  He was probably in bed now.  Dean thought about Castiel’s bed.  The soft king sized mattress that was big enough for two grown men to stretch out in, and yet they always slept curled near each other.  It took Dean a moment to realize that the image on his phone wasn’t just a list of contacts anymore, but the screen that displayed when a call was being made.

“Hello?”

Dean could barely hear Castiel’s voice, but he had clearly picked up.  Dean fumbled with the phone and then put it close to his ear.

“Hey.  Cas.  Tiel.  Um.  It’s Dean.”

“Why are you calling?”

Dean’s stomach turned.  Oh fuck, he was in trouble.

“I’m sorry, that came out harsher than I meant.  I genuinely just want to know why you’re calling me.”

Dean’s jaw flapped.

“Do you need…something?”

“You,” Dean blurted.

“Hm.  Fortunately I’m good at being me.  What can I do for you, Dean?”

“Um…I…”

Dean panicked.  What the fuck was wrong with him?

“Gabriel called,” Castiel said blandly.  “He complained that I missed our sister’s birthday party again.  He likes to make this joke every year.  Like it will guilt me into wanting to go out.”

“D-does it work?”

“Make me feel guilty?  Not really.  Anna is coming over tomorrow.  And bringing a piece of cake with her,” he said grumpily.

“That sounds nice.”

“Nice?  Outside food?  Who knows who made it or what happened to it between being made and her party and what Gabriel did to it at the party and what will happen between Anna’s home and mine.”

“You know, all that food you order and prepare from the grocery store, was handled and sometimes prepared by outside people and machines and chemicals and who knows what else.”

“You’ve never been present for my grocery deliveries.  I clean everything thoroughly.”

“Not something like cereal.  You can’t wash cereal.”

“It’s sealed though.”

“Yeah, but, it was made unsealed by humans.”

“Wearing protective equipment.”

“If they were following the rules…”

“Are you trying to upset me?”

“No!  No, of course not.  Sorry.  I didn’t quite get to the point I was trying to make.”

“Well, I still got it anyway,” Castiel grumbled.  “I know I can’t completely keep the outside world from getting in.  But there’s nothing wrong with pretending that I can.”

Dean bit his lip to stop himself from disagreeing with that sentiment.

“Dean, I jerked off in the shower after you left.”

“What?” Dean asked with a laugh.

“I showed you all those toys to get you riled up.  And it worked.  But it also worked on me.  And then you insisted on that make out session.”

“Like I had to force you into it,” Dean said with a roll of his eyes.

“Regardless.  I sent you off feeling smug, but then I had to go jack off in the shower while thinking about how I could have slid up that couch and shoved my cock down your throat.”

Dean hummed appreciatively at the visual.  “I wouldn’t have minded that at all.”

“Did—did you touch yourself when you got home?”

“Nope."

Silence.

“My brother was home.  And then…then my dad came home.  Family kind of nipped everything in the bud.”

“Ah.”

“But I would have.  If I’d been alone.”

“How do you get off when you’re alone?”

“I like getting a rough towel and humping it in my bed.”

“Really?  Dildos?”

“Depends on my mood.  Sometimes I just like to feel like I’m fucking something.”

“Interesting.  You said you didn’t want any fleshlights.  I could buy one though.”

“No, thank you.  The fewer things you have for me to put my dick in, the more likely I am to get another one of those amazing blowjobs.”

“That was an ‘I’m sorry I was an ass today,’ blowjob.”

“Is that so?  I think you probably owe me a few then.”

Castiel chuckled.  “Don’t worry.  You’ll always get what you deserve, Dean.”

Dean groaned softly and rolled over onto his stomach.  “Cas…tiel.  I wanna…I wanna…”  he trailed off, not sure if Castiel wanted to hear that Dean wanted to be in bed with him right at that moment.  Not even for sex, but just to snuggle up against his solid warmth.  He wasn’t much of a cuddler in general, but as Castiel’s sub, it was okay to want to be protected by his dom.

“Yes…” Castiel replied just as vaguely.

“Well, it’s late,” Dean said.  “I’m sorry if I woke you up.”

“You didn’t, actually.  But you’re right, it is late and you should get some sleep.”

“Yeah.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Uh, tomorrow is Sunday.”

“Oh, right.  Yeah, I knew that.  I’m just tired.  Monday then.”

“Sleep well, Dean.”

“Goodnight, Castiel.”

Dean turned his phone off and curled the hand with the device close to his head under the pillow.  He held onto it as he relaxed into his bed.  He fell asleep easily, the beginnings of a dream about wrangling a herd of sex toys teasing his subconscious.

~~~

Dean woke up early on Sunday, his internal clock telling him he had to be awake before his father.  It was almost nine o’clock, but when he checked on his father, the man was still snoozing away in his miraculously unsoiled bed.  Sam came home just before 9:30, so he made them French toast (after Sam had stopped being a giant worry wart over his face).

“You could have stayed at Kevin’s through breakfast,” Dean said.

Sam shrugged.

“Dad’s still asleep.  Probably will be until the afternoon.”

“I’m gonna go hang out with Kevin later.”

“Okay.  That’s good.”

“Yeah.  Wouldn’t want to be in my own home in case the raging alcoholic wakes up.”

Dean couldn’t even chastise Sam for his bitter comment.  Hell, wasn’t that why he had sent him away last night?  Because he didn’t trust his father?

“Maybe you should leave the apartment too,” Sam suggested.

It was Dean’s turn to shrug.  “Maybe.  All of my friends work on Sundays though,” he said with an amused laugh.

Just then the phone rang.  Dean lunged at it so it wouldn’t ring a second time and wake up their father.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Dean.”

“Benny!  What’s up?”

“Guess who finally has a Sunday off?  I know you typically need to sleep during the day on Sundays, but I haven’t seen you in ages.”

Dean bobbed his head and plopped the last piece of French toast onto Sam’s plate.

“I know.  In fact, I haven’t even told you that I got a new job.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.  I get Sundays off now.  And I get to sleep at night.”

“What a revelation.  Where do you work?”

“Uh…um.  At, a, uh, new restaurant.  Not in Huntsville.  It’s over in, uh, Blair.”

“And they didn’t put the low man on the totem pole on Sunday shifts?”

“They’re closed on Sundays.  Religious or something.”

“Ah, gotcha.  So, if you’re awake and free, you wanna come hang out?”

“Definitely.  Just tell me where and when and I’m there.”

An hour later, Dean was dressed in his best pair of dark jeans, a grey Henley, and even dabbed on a smidge of cologne.  Sure they weren’t going out clubbing on a Saturday night, but it had been a long time since he’d _gone out_ at all.  He met Benny at Corner Pocket, a pool hall that masqueraded as a family restaurant to pay the bills.  They did have a good spread for Sunday brunch.  Dean and Benny bypassed the food though and headed for the back to rack up a game of Nine Ball.  And Benny didn’t have one word to say about the bruise on his face; he kind of loved Benny for how well his friend knew him.  A waitress brought them a bowl of nuts and two glasses of water.

“We have a special on mimosas this morning if you boys are interested,” she said with a smile for Benny and a wink for Dean.

“We’re all good here, darling, thank you,” Benny replied.

Dean glanced at his friend.  They clicked so well and had such a strong relationship that it was only at times like these that Dean remembered they’d met at AA.  Dean hadn’t been there for himself, he hadn’t stopped drinking at that point (and he managed to stop on his own); he’d been there to pick up pamphlets for his father.  He and Benny had met at the coffee urn and wound up talking for hours.  At first Dean had suspected maybe Benny was into him and had been able to see through his macho-hetero bullshit, but after a while he’d learned about Andrea.  She was Benny’s ex-girlfriend that he was still totally hung up on, though Dean had no idea why because apparently she had cheated on him with his father?  Or father figure?  Or something like that.  He never did get the full story.  After that they had spent a lot of their time together trying to pick up women.  Benny failed because he couldn’t get over Andrea, and Dean succeeded on occasion, but usually failed because he was checking out the guy he was competing against for the girl.  One time that had actually worked out for him and he’d fooled around with “Roger” in the men’s room, right here at Corner Pocket.  Dean chuckled and Benny raised an eyebrow at him as he lined up his shot.

“You thinking about that time you scored with that chick in the bathrooms here?”

Dean smiled and leaned against their table.  That had happened too.  For the next few hours, he and Benny played pool and talked and ordered lunch and it felt so good to have normal interaction with a human being.  One where he wasn’t taking care of somebody or getting paid to be there.  He’d really needed the break, and it was nice he was awake enough to appreciate it.

As they were settling their bill, the waitress slipped Dean her number and gave him another wink before walking away.  Dean put the number in his pocket so the girl’s feelings wouldn’t be hurt, but he had zero intention of calling her.

“You’re going to throw that number out, aren’t you?” Benny asked with mock disappointment.

Dean shrugged.  “Not interested.”

“Not interested?  Brother, you haven’t gotten laid in months.”

“How would you know?”

“I know your schedule.  You ain’t got time.”

“New job.  Got time now.”

“So, you met someone?”

“N-no.”

“I’m gonna find you someone.”

“Not necessary.  Believe me.”

“You’ve done a lot for me,” Benny said.  “Talked me down more times than my sponsor has.  The least I can do is help you get your dick wet.”

“Well, that sounds sexy and not at all disgusting and uncomfortable.”

Benny put an arm around his shoulders and pulled him into a light hug as they left the restaurant.

“Don’t you worry.  I know how to take care of my friends.”

~~~

Dean touched his lip once last time before knocking.  It was times like these that he wished Sam was a girl.  Then he would have had some cover up available to hide the dark bruise that was already starting to yellow around the edges.  The swelling was gone and the cut on his lip was scabbed almost completely closed, but the bruise blossomed large above his lip and partly onto his cheek.  He was surprised the waitress had expressed interest him the day before quite frankly.

The door opened and Dean bent over to take his shoes off.  And not to hide his face.  Nope.  He walked in with his head turned and started digging around in the footlocker.  Why was he stalling?  It wasn’t like he could hide his face from Castiel all day.  Unless…he wondered if Castiel owned a gimp hood.  He undressed and collared himself with his back to Castiel, and when he couldn’t put it off any longer, he turned around.

Castiel was in dress slacks, a white button down shirt, and a green tie.  His eyes went wide when he saw Dean.  He crossed his arms over his chest and took a step back.  Well, that wasn’t exactly the reaction he’d been expecting (hoping?) for.

“What happened?”

Dean shrugged.  “It’s nothing.”

“Who hit you?”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Dean, tell me—”

“You’re not allowed to demand answers to personal questions from me,” Dean snapped.

Castiel pursed his lips.  He glared at Dean for a few moments.  “It’s about your health.”

“And I said I’m fine.”

“But—”

“If it bothers you, I can leave.  You can dock my pay.  I’ll come back when it’s gone.”

“No.  No, don’t.”  Castiel took another step back.  “Go wash up.”

Castiel didn’t follow him to the bathroom and he didn’t bathe him.  He didn’t appear when Dean dried himself off or brushed his teeth.  He wasn’t waiting for him with clothes, so Dean didn’t bother to look for any.  He wasn’t in the front rooms, so Dean peeked his head into the office.  Castiel was sitting at his desk, working.  There was a book on top of the fuzzy pillow.  Dean repressed a sigh and sat down on the pillow crossed-legged.  The book was _Middlemarch_ , and Dean’s second sigh wasn’t quite repressed.  He turned to the page he had left off on—fourteen—and began reading again.  He was distracted for the first half hour by Castiel’s stillness and lack of attention.  Eventually though he chose to ignore Castiel in return and focused on the book.  By lunch he was wondering what the fuck was wrong with Dorothea that she thought marrying Casaubon was a good idea.

Dean was stunned and left sulking when Castiel ordered him to sit at the table while he fixed hotdogs.  _Hotdogs_.  Not that he didn’t like hotdogs, but Castiel didn’t even boil them.  He nuked them.  Then he made Dean stay in his chair and eat his own lunch.  They didn’t speak and Castiel stared straight ahead at the wall.  After Dean was finished with the dishes, Castiel walked up to him with the book in hand.

“Since you seem so immersed in your novel, you should stay out here in the living room and read so you can concentrate.”

Dean stared at Castiel wide eyed.  He was sending him away.  He hadn’t touched him once, and now he couldn’t even stand to look at him?  Just because he wouldn’t tell him where the bruise had come from?  Or was it because of the bruise itself?  Did he think it made Dean unclean somehow?

Castiel was still holding the book out to him.  Dean took it numbly.  Castiel turned and disappeared into the hallway.  Dean stood unmoving, not quite sure what to do.  Then he slowly trudged over to the couches and sat down on one.  He put the book beside him on the cushion.  He crossed his arms and wondered if Castiel would simply keep him at a distance until Dean snapped and called off the contract.  He looked up at the ceiling.  The bulbs reminded him of the surveillance cameras.  He’d never seen any, but he’d seen proof they existed.  He picked up the book and opened it, just in case Castiel decided to spy on him.  But why should he bother to obey his orders anyway?  Because he was good and he was going to follow orders and he was going to prove to Castiel that there was nothing wrong with him.

Ten minutes to four, Castiel came into the room and Dean was pulling for Fred and wishing Rosamund would fall into a black hole.  Castiel didn’t speak, but waited by the door.  Dean put the book back on the shelf and walked over to the man who still wouldn’t quite meet his eyes.  Dean dressed stiffly and hesitated before taking the collar off.  When he did, he felt his anger bubble up.  He carefully put the collar in its box and placed it in the footlocker.  Then he turned to Castiel.

“What the fuck is going on, Castiel?”

Castiel shook his head.  “The contract states that we have the option to play, not that we have to.”

“So, what, you want me to come here and read through your book collection until you finally get the balls to fire me?”

Castiel’s brow creased.  “Fire you?”

“I’m not sneaking around!” Dean said, his voice louder than he intended.  “I don’t, like, have a dom on the side that got a little overzealous.”

“I didn’t think you did.”

“Then what the fuck?”

“I don’t want to hurt you—”

“I’m not hurt!  It’s just a bruise.  I’m _fine_.”

“O-okay.”

“Then touch me!”

His voice cracked.  He turned away in embarrassment.  The fuck was wrong with him?

Hands gripped his arms, and then Dean felt the warmth of Castiel’s body behind him.  The man laid his cheek on Dean’s neck, just behind his bent head.  Castiel ran his hands up and down Dean’s arms comfortingly.

“I thought you wouldn’t want me to touch you,” Castiel said softly.

“Why wouldn’t I want that?” Dean asked with a pitiful voice.

“Because…I was afraid that you would…be worried I would hurt you.”

“Castiel…”

Dean pulled out of his grasp and turned around so that he could look him in the eyes.

“We’ve only been doing this for three weeks, but I trust you.  I do.  Absolutely.”

Castiel nodded.  He stepped closer and raised a tentative hand.  His fingers just barely skimmed over the tender flesh above his lip.

“If I can do anything at all…” he said, the implied threat in his voice more cute than menacing.

“You’re doing it right now,” Dean said.

Castiel moved close enough that with only a slight need to raise up on his toes, he could kiss the bruise.  It immediately felt better.

“I’m sorry for today then.  I wasn’t there for you.”

Dean shook his head.  “I could have said something sooner.”

Castiel patted his cheek, and then his eyes fell to Dean’s neck.  He took three steps back and crossed his arms over his chest.  Right.  They were not in their proper roles to be touching at the moment.  Dean got his shoes out of the footlocker.

“See you tomorrow, Castiel.”

“Yes, Dean,” Castiel replied a little too intently.

Dean couldn’t help but smile and left the condo.  At the elevators, he ran into the girl from the across the hall as she was getting off.

“Hey!  Oh!  Um, Mr. Novak didn’t do that, did he?” she whispered.

“No,” Dean said, smiling at her as he stepped onto the lift.

“I didn’t think so.  Wouldn’t have believed you if you’d said yes.”

Dean cocked his head at her as the doors slid shut.  Was that a dig at his inherent untrustworthiness, or a recommendation of Castiel’s character?

~~~

Tuesday, Castiel was apparently bound and determined to make up for his behavior on Monday.  He took extra care bathing Dean, and worked the douche and his cock at the same time so that Dean had already come once before he was even finished with his bath.  Instead of watching, Castiel had taken the time to dry Dean off himself.  He waited while Dean brushed his teeth, and then gave him a long, gentle smooch, cognizant of his injured lip.  Then he’d taken Dean to his bedroom closet and dug around in a drawer he’d never opened in front of Dean before.  He’d produced a pair of light blue cotton underwear.  But…they weren’t briefs.  They were kind of like really tiny booty shorts, only they were soft like underwear.  As he put them on he had a vague memory of someone calling them “boy shorts” once, though it had definitely been a girl sliding them on.  Had Castiel just sneakily gotten him into women’s underwear?

He didn’t care because Castiel pulled the fuzzy pillow close and let Dean lean against his leg.  The contact was pleasant, but Castiel was working so he was a little bored.  With the knowledge that the only person who would ever know about his reading choices was a hermit who never talked to anybody, Dean walked to the front room and retrieved the copy of _Middlemarch_.  He sat back down at Castiel’s feet and read on—still struggling a little bit with all the extraneous political talk that didn’t have anything directly to do with the story.

Lunch consisted of a baguette, three kinds of cheeses (one of which was spreadable), cherry tomatoes, grapes, and some kind of premade meatball thing.  All of which were easily finger foods, so Castiel had Dean kneel by his chair while he fed him lunch.  The meatballs weren’t even that bad.  He’d ask about them later; they’d make a good snack for Sam and his friends.  After lunch they took up their positions in the office again.  Not long after 2:30 though, the book had fallen from Dean’s hands and he was leaning fully against Castiel’s leg, his head resting on his thigh as the man petted him and combed his fingers through his hair.  It was possible that this was someone’s idea of heaven.

The computer chimed softly.  Dean recognized it as the sound Skype made for an incoming call.  He glanced up curiously at Castiel, but didn’t want to move too much.  Castiel looked nervous and uncomfortable and stopped petting Dean.

“She shouldn’t be calling now.  She doesn’t call at all.  I call her.  I call her at 4:30.”

“Maybe something’s wrong,” Dean said.

Castiel looked down at him with such a stricken look that Dean immediately backpedaled.

“Or maybe nothing’s wrong and she got the time mixed up?  Won the lottery?”

Castiel looked back at the screen.  Dean leaned against his leg and kissed his thigh.

“It’s okay.  You can answer it.”

“You should go…”

Dean shook his head and wrapped his arm petulantly around his leg.  The computer chimed on.  Castiel made a soft, nervous whining sound in the back of his throat.  Dean moved under the desk and Castiel gasped softly when Dean ran his hands up his thighs.  They made eye contact.

“Answer,” Dean said as his hands worked on the fly of Castiel’s jeans.  Castiel stared down at him without much humor in his face.  Dean didn’t wilt under the unpleasant look.  The computer chimed on.  Dean pulled Castiel’s cock out of his underwear.  “Answer it.”

Then Dean heard the click of a mouse.

“What up, Cas?” a very bubbly female voice asked.

“Charlie, it’s 2:41.  Our phone calls are at 4:30.  And I call you.”

“Yeah…about that, I—”

Castiel let out a small noise as Dean licked his cockhead into his mouth.

“Oh, come on, don’t get all weird and squeaky on me,” the woman, Charlie apparently, said.  “It’s in the agreement that if I have urgent business, I can break the schedule and call you.”

“Unh-huh,” Castiel said, clearly a little distracted as Dean pushed forward and took more of him in.

“Oh.  Well, I’m glad we don’t have to have a fight about it.  So, you should know that Finnerman has put another injunction on the merger.”

“Yes, I know, I got the, uh, the um.  Um.  Shit.  The affidavit.  Yes, affidavit.  I got the affidavit last week.”

“Yeah, that was for last week’s.  This is a new one.”

“What?  How?  What is possibly left to…”  Castiel exhaled harshly.

“Well, geez, Cas, it’s not that big a deal.”

Dean grinned around his mouthful.

“If it’s not that big of a deal, why did you call?”

“Well, I mean it’s a big deal, but it’s not worth hyperventilating over.  Are you okay?  You look flushed.”

“Fine,” Castiel said a little too quickly.

Dean lowered his head more and swallowed Castiel’s cock to the back of his throat.

“ _Jesus_.”

“Jesus?” Charlie asked, clearly confused.

“No, I mean.  E-mail me the affidavit.  I’ll take a look at it and we can talk about it during our 4:30 call—allllll.  Oh, geez.”

“Seriously, are you okay?”

Castiel didn’t reply verbally but Dean could feel him move slightly and assumed he gave the woman some kind of thumbs up or other “I’m okay” signal.

“You know, Cas, it’s really weird when the weird person acts in a way that’s weird even for them.”

“Yeah.  Now you know how I felt at that party sophomore year.”

Dean’s ears perked up.  She wasn’t just a work colleague but an old friend?

Charlie laughed.  “Whatever.  You liked it.  And you know it.”

Castiel reached a hand down and gripped Dean’s hair tightly, making him hold still.

“I think the person who has to admit she liked it is you.”

“Never.  Dicks are gross.”

Dean pulled off so that he could kiss the tip of Castiel’s penis and whisper, “I like ‘em.”

Castiel tugged on his hair, so Dean slid him back into his mouth.

“Alright then, vaginas rule and dicks drool, I get it.  We can talk at 4:30 about Finnerman.”

“Okay then.  Peace out, bitch.”

The call ended, Castiel sighed in relief, and Dean pulled off.

“How come she gets to call you Cas and bitch?”

Castiel’s hands returned to his hair and shoved his face to his crotch.

“Keep going.”

Dean could have protested and complained about not being answered, but he did have more pleasant things he could be doing.  Castiel groaned loudly and dropped his head back onto his office chair as Dean rose up on his knees high enough to take in Castiel’s full length.

~~~

Dean caught himself whistling again as he made dinner that night.  Aw hell, as long as no one heard him—

“What’s got you in such a good mood?” his father asked as he emerged from his bedroom.

Dean immediately sobered and concentrated on the chicken he was basting with barbeque sauce in the grill pan.

“Nothing.  Just.  You know, bored.  Started whistling.”

“Ah.”  John took a seat at the bar and glanced over his shoulder.  The news was talking about a family of ducks that had taken up residence in a nursing home.  “News not stimulating enough for you?”

Dean smiled and glanced up.  “You staying for dinner?”

“Yeah.  You got anything to drink?”

Dean used the excused to look in the refrigerator to turn his back on his father.

“Well, there’s water, OJ, iced tea, milk.”  He sighed.  “El Sol.”

“Haven’t had iced tea in a while.”

Dean turned around, surprised.  “Are you saying you want…iced tea?”

John nodded like it was obvious.  Dean poured some tea for his father and set it in front of him.  He watched curiously as he drank it.  John put his glass down and looked right back at Dean.

“I got something on my face?”

“N-no, sir.”

“Not like you.  How’s that doing?”

Dean touched his bruise.  “It’s fine.  Better.  Doesn’t even hurt.”  He returned to his chicken basting, and snickered.  _Chicken basting_.

“I hope you gave it just as good to the other guy.”

Dean turned around and stared at his father; he was reading a paper that Sam must have brought in from somewhere.  The lead story was about that missing kid and his mother.  Now the police thought she might be a victim too.  But there were victims everywhere.

“Are you joking?” Dean asked, his voice calm but dark.

John looked up.  “What do you mean?”

“You don’t remember who did this to me?”

John looked concerned.  “It wasn’t Sam, was it?”

“S-Sam?!  Seriously?  You don’t remember stumbling in here drunk off your ass on Saturday?  Yelling in the hallway, scaring the shit out of Sam, breaking stuff in the kitchen, hitting me in the face, peeing your pants, puking in the bathtub?  None of that rings a bell?  How about at least wondering how you wound up clean in a set of fresh sheets?  That had to be a rare enough occurrence that it made you a little bit curious about what had happened recently.”

John swallowed.  “I wouldn’t—”

“Not on purpose, I know, Dad,” Dean said.  “You’ve told me that before.”

They were silent for the remaining ten minutes it took Dean to finish dinner and serve it up on plates.

“Sam!  Dinner!”

“Coming!” came the muffled reply.

Dean set a plate in front of his father.  He picked up his fork but didn’t begin eating.

“After dinner…I think I’ll take a walk.  And…pick up an application for the Arby’s a couple blocks over.”

Dean sighed.  “You don’t have to do that.  You get your license back in two days.”

His father went very still and quiet.  Dean put his fork down.

“What happened?”

“I got picked up in Albuquerque last week.  Driving on a suspended license.  They held me for a couple of weeks, that’s why I was gone.  In the end they didn’t want to bother with charges, so they cut me loose.  But, they did forward the message back to Huntsville and uh, it’ll probably be awhile before I can get my license back.”

“I see.”

“But, I need to get a job.  I need to help out…”

The thought of his father, strong, resilient John Winchester, in an Arby’s uniform almost broke his heart.

“It’s alright, Dad.  My new job has got us covered.  You should…maybe take the time to do something else that we need.”

John looked up at Dean, and then looked away.  Dean knew his father knew that he was talking about going to AA.  The silence stretched out until Sam bounded into the room.

“Yum, that smells good!”

“You can’t have any until you eat this kale crap that you made me buy.  I’m not wasting money on shit you won’t eat, so you better eat it.”

“You have to massage it first.”

“Massage your own kale, you freak.”

“Shut up!  I’m not a freak.”

Dean laughed and glanced at his father, who was smiling.  Sam was smiling too as he stuck his hands in the salad and began squishing the greens.

This was good.  His family was smiling.  He felt good now that he was getting more sleep and eating less fast food.  Castiel was doing good.  Everyone was good.


	8. Chapter 8

Castiel was not good.

Well, it wasn’t so much that he wasn’t good as that he was moody.  He hadn’t reverted back to the no touching policy he seemed to adopt when he felt uncomfortable, but whenever he did touch Dean it seemed to be done in defiance.  Of what Dean had no clue, but he knew that Castiel was bound to have his good days and his bad days, so he made sure to be extra good for him on Wednesday.  Thursday, he wasn’t in a better mood and he really wished that Castiel got more into sex when he got sulky.  Unfortunately, he tended to shut down and Dean hadn’t come since Castiel’s reciprocal hand job on Tuesday afternoon.

Friday, Castiel was in a downright funk.  He griped and grumbled and acted like Dean’s attentions were only part of an act (which, yeah they technically were, but Dean did enjoy his job).  He put up with Castiel’s petulance until four o’clock, which signaled the end of a normal “work” day and the switch to the “overnight” shift.  He was not spending the night with someone who was as surly as Castiel had been acting the past three days.

Dean had followed Castiel into the kitchen, who was grumbling to himself as he rooted around in the fridge for a snack, and waited until he faced him again.  Dean reached up to take the collar off.

“Don’t!”

Dean started and dropped his hands.  Castiel shrank back a bit.

“Don’t take it off.”

“Castiel…we need to talk.”

“No, we don’t.”  Dean started to protest, but Castiel cut him off and said, “I just need to explain.  Why I’ve been so…grumpy.”

“Grumpy?”  Dean crossed his arms.  “Don’t try to make it sound cute.”

Castiel made a face, and then set down the mozzarella string cheese he’d pulled out of the refrigerator.  And it would never not be funny that Castiel liked to eat string cheese.

“I just…I’ve got things on my mind.”  He avoided Dean’s eyes.

“What kind of things?”

“Things.  Stuff.  Plans.”

“Castiel…”

“I want to…tonight.  I’ve been thinking about it all week.”

“About what?”

“I’ll show you after dinner.  And I’ll behave until then.  I promise.”

Was it weird for a dom to promise to behave?  Dean shook it off.

“Fine.  You don’t have to share personal things if you don’t want to, but stop being like that guy from _Up_ about it.”

Castiel smiled.  “I liked that movie.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

Castiel frowned at him, and then offered him cheese.  “Hungry?”

“Will you feed me?”

“Do we need to add this to the kinks section?”

“Hey, it’s your kink, not mine.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Don’t ‘mm-hmm’ me.”

Castiel stepped into his space, hooked a finger under his collar, and yanked him down so they were eye to eye.

“Careful, boy.  I’m still making up my mind about tonight.”

Dean’s lips parted on a sudden rush of arousal.  What the fuck did Castiel have planned for tonight?

“Yes, sir.”

Dean walked on egg shells the rest of the afternoon and evening.  He’d gotten jittery after dinner, until Castiel told him they were going to allow time for their food to digest before doing anything strenuous.  It had put a damper on Dean’s excitement, and yet the implication that they were going to do something “strenuous” left him with a feeling of anxiousness crawling on his skin.

Around ten o’clock, they were relaxing on the couch together, Dean leaning against Castiel’s side, both reading.  Castiel was reading something in French and Dean was already two-thirds of the way through _Middlemarch_.  He was starting to despair that nobody would get a happy ending.  Then Castiel put his book down and nudged Dean so he would sit up.

“Come with me,” Castiel said evenly.

Dean followed Castiel to the hallway, and then into the playroom.  Dean shivered as soon as he was under the dim, slightly pinkish light.  It wasn’t cold in the room, but he had chills.  There was a single chair set in the middle of the room with a long coil of silk rope set upon it.  Castiel shut the door behind them, and then picked up the rope.  He approached Dean.  Dean held out his wrists without being prompted.

Castiel asked, “What is your safe word, Dean?”

“Sixty-seven, sir.”

“Shall we begin?”

“Yes, sir.”

Castiel tied a Somerville Bowline knot on each wrist.  It wasn’t the prettiest knot, but it could easily be released by pulling on the tail.  It was a good knot to use for the two people trying bondage with each other for the first time.  Of course, Dean would have been happy with a square knot.

Castiel backed Dean up until his back bumped the padded wall.  His cock nudged Castiel’s leg.  The man glanced down at the organ that was rapidly becoming erect with essentially no direct stimulation.  Castiel smirked at him and Dean couldn’t even manage a haughty look.  He was barely breathing steadily.  Castiel stepped back so that he could sling the end of the rope up.  Dean looked up and saw that one of the black plastic covers had been removed in the ceiling, and a sturdy hook poked out of the hole.  The rope caught the hook and Castiel grabbed the end as it fell back down.  He pulled gently on the rope, and Dean’s hands were pulled over his head.  Castiel kept pulling and he was forced back completely against the wall and onto the balls of his feet.

“Okay?” Castiel asked.

“Yes, sir,” Dean said, trying not to sound too much like a needy bottom.  Castiel remembered his confession about liking being tied to walls.  He was so ready for whatever Castiel wanted.

Castiel tied off the end of the rope on a hook in the wall that was about two feet to his left at chest height, securing him in place.  Then Castiel leaned forward and kissed his collar as his hands did something beside him on the wall.  Dean tilted his head to the side and let Castiel lick and bite along the length of the collar.  Dean smiled and rolled his hips forward, feeling his leaking cockhead leave a sticky trail across Castiel’s clean shirt.  When Castiel stepped back, he looked to his left to see what Castiel had done with the wall.  A small, thick shelf covered with the same padding as the walls had been pulled out of the wall at about the height of his hips.  He glanced at the other side and there was one there too.

Castiel stepped back into his space, his hands on Dean’s hips.  “Raise your left leg for me, Dean.”

Dean bent his knee and raised his leg straight up.  He swallowed with a little bit of dread as Castiel hooked his hand under Dean’s knee.  Then he slowly started to pull his leg to the side, lifting it high enough to get it over the shelf.  Then he let it rest on the shelf.

“Right leg.”

Dean lifted that leg a little awkwardly, his weight pulling on his tied wrists and slightly off balance due to the other leg being propped up.  Again, slowly, Castiel moved his leg so that he was spread wide and settled the back of his thigh on the shelf.

“Do you feel okay?  It’s not too much of a stretch is it?”

Dean shook his head.

“Can you go farther?”

Dean licked his lips.  “M-maybe.  Flexibility isn’t the highest on my list of attributes.”

Cas grinned and kissed him.  “And such a long list it is.”  He continued to kiss him, distracting Dean a little bit as his legs were pushed farther and farther apart on top of the shelves.  Clearly Castiel had plans to make his knees touch the wall.  He broke the kiss when his knees were almost in line with his hips.

“Ah, stop.  That might be it.”

“Okay.  It’s alright.  This is good, Dean.  Very, very, good.”

Dean exhaled slowly, feeling utterly vulnerable and exposed.  It was a little scary, but his dick was also straining and excited and ready for anything.  Castiel adjusted the rope again so that the slack from putting his legs on the shelves disappeared and he was held taut against the wall again.  Then he walked over to the chair in the center of the room and sat down.  He crossed his legs, put his hands one over the other on his thigh, and watched Dean thoughtfully.

Dean fought to stay still but found himself squirming.  He kept trying to close his eyes so he wouldn’t have to look at Castiel looking at him like this, but he just kept peeking.  Dean bit his lip and pulled at his bonds, his hips twisting and his hole fluttering as it was wide open and exposed.

“Cas-Castiel,” Dean whined.

He couldn’t believe how turned on he was.  He couldn’t believe his body was ratcheting up toward orgasm with nothing on him but Castiel’s steady gaze.  Dean’s breathing quickened and his cock twitched against his stomach.  Castiel’s eyes narrowed slightly.  Then he stood up and walked over to the other end of the room.  He pulled open a drawer, closed it, and walked toward Dean—a bottle of lube in his hands.  Dean’s eyes went wide, but he didn’t dare hope.

Castiel stepped close to him, but didn’t touch.  He could still feel the heat from his body though and writhed against the wall, seeking any kind of contact.  There was the familiar click of the bottle being opened, and moments later, the pads of two fingers were circling around his entrance.  Castiel maintained eye contact and Dean struggled and panted and pulled against his bonds, but he didn’t look away from Castiel’s dark eyes, the blue so washed out in the dim light that his pupils seemed to dominate the irises completely.

One finger teased inside him, shallow and maddening.  The second one joined, stretching his rim without fully penetrating him.  Still Castiel maintained eye contact, and then he slid both fingers in slowly, all the way inside.  He easily found Dean’s prostate and massaged it while leaning forward enough to brush his lips over Dean’s parted ones.  Breathy mewls fell from his lips to Castiel’s.  The fingers scissored inside him and Dean hummed and snapped his legs together.  His knees hit Castiel’s hips, and Castiel pulled his fingers out so that he could push his legs apart with both hands.

“Stay put, Dean, or I’ll have to tie your knees to the wall.”

Dean squirmed and moaned.  He wasn’t entirely opposed to that idea, but Castiel had asked him to keep his legs apart, so he drew his knees back and arched his back.  The fingers returned, slipping inside easily with more lube.  Castiel nibbled and sucked on his lower lip as he took his sweet, precious time stretching Dean with just two fingers.  He spent so long on him with those two fingers that when the third joined them it barely added anymore stretch.  He pumped his fingers slowly in and out of Dean’s hole, his lips kissing hotly over Dean’s jaw, and his other hand grabbing and massaging his pectoral muscle, occasionally his fingers rolling and pinching a nipple.

Every now and then Dean felt his legs slipping forward and he had to pull them back.  He kind of wished Castiel had tied him completely to the wall.  Then the fingers were gone.  The lips were gone.  Dean tossed his head back and forth on the wall.  He felt like a kite string snapped tight by a sudden gale of wind, vibrating with the shock of the resistance.  He vaguely heard the snap of a lube cap.  Then, finally, he felt it.

The blunt head of Castiel’s cock pressed against his entrance.  His eyes flew open and he looked at Castiel, who as far as he was aware, hadn’t looked away from him once.  Dean tried to get his mouth to work, but it had fallen slack with need and want and was useless to him.  He pulled his knees back as far as he could.  There was pressure on his rim, it was slightly uncomfortable, and then suddenly Castiel’s cockhead popped inside of him.

“Anh!”  Dean finally managed to make a noise.  Then Castiel slid smoothly and unstopping into him until his balls rested against Dean’s ass.  A soft keening noise escaped his throat.  He’d had Castiel in his mouth, in his hands, he knew how big he was (fairly average to be honest), but at this moment he felt massive.

“Can you feel me, Dean?”

“Yes!” Dean screamed, and he could.  He could feel every single, hot, hard inch filling him and stretching him.

Castiel slid partially out and then pushed back in.

“Yes, fuck, yes!  Cas-Cast…Cas, oh God.”

Castiel placed his hands on Dean’s hips and began to roll his hips up into Dean’s body.  He was able to stand perfectly comfortable and flat-footed on the floor, Dean being at the right height for Castiel to fuck deep into him without having to bend his back or knees too much.  He was able to keep up a driving, steady pace with ease and Dean could do nothing but feel how open he was for Castiel, how perfectly he was positioned to be used however Castiel saw fit.  And despite being tied up and spread open and fucked like some kind of sophisticated sex toy, Castiel’s unwavering gaze made him feel like he was special.  Like only _he_ could do this for Castiel.  Only he could be what he needed.

“Cas, Cas…f-feels…feels so good.  I can take it.  Can’t I?  I take it so well.  You can go harder.  Deeper.  Cas, please, just fucking use me.”

Dean could hear himself babbling, but he couldn’t stop.  His whole body was strung tight, and yet he was also going pliant, offering his body up to Castiel’s needs.  Castiel himself was finally making some noise, gasping and moaning softly against his neck.  He slowed down just a touch so that he could thrust harder.  The head of his cock kept catching on Dean’s prostate.  His own cock occasionally brushed against Castiel’s shirt—because Castiel was still completely fucking clothed.  But his cock didn’t need anything.  His pleasure was spilling through his veins and running madly through every part of his body.  Castiel’s grip tightened on his hips, his moans became a little louder, and he put his forehead to Dean’s neck.

“Come in me, come in me, Cas, come in me—”

Dean’s voice shook as Castiel pounded into him and surprisingly, embarrassingly, the mere thought of Castiel coming inside him was enough to throw him into orgasm.  He let out a long string of oh’s that cut off each time Castiel slammed into his body.  He was aware that he ejaculated, but the orgasm was drowning him from head to toe.  He felt Castiel put his hands under Dean’s thighs and push them up slightly, his hips pistoning wildly into Dean’s body…and then Castiel’s eyes finally closed, his head dropped back, and he groaned loudly, his hips still continuing to thrust in and out even as his cock pumped his come into Dean’s hole.  Eventually he slowed down and thrust deeply inside Dean and held still for several moments.  Dean’s whole body felt boneless—actually, he felt lighter than air.  He could have sworn he was floating.

Then his legs were pulled off the shelves and he felt his weight on his wrists again.  Castiel wrapped an arm around his waist and then pulled on the tails of the knots.  Dean slumped forward, but Castiel caught him.  He did his best to help Castiel by walking (more or less) to the bedroom.  He collapsed onto the mattress with a very satisfied moan.

Castiel stepped into his bathroom and returned with a warm, damp wash cloth.  He wiped down Dean’s torso and then gently cleaned between his legs.  Dean was already halfway asleep when he finally felt Castiel crawl naked into bed with him.  He turned into his warmth and wrapped an arm around his waist.  Castiel’s hand settled in his hair, and Dean was just about to let his consciousness slip away when Castiel spoke.

“You keep calling me Cas.”

Dean’s eyes opened.

“You don’t have a problem, usually, during normal activities, but when we…when we’re together, you always call me Cas.”

“Are you going to punish me?”

“Shh, no,” Castiel said and dropped a kiss on the top of his head.  “I just want to know why.”

“I guess…it’s just hard to get the full thing out when you’re barely able to breathe.”

“Ah.  Is that all?”

“Well…”  Dean uncurled a finger from where it was balled loosely against Castiel’s chest and scritched shyly on his skin with the tip.  “Sex…no matter how kinky or amazing…is intimate, you know?  I guess your full name just feels a little overly formal when we’re, you know—inside of each other.”

“Hmm.  I suppose we could amend the contract.”

Dean tilted his head back slightly but only saw the underside of Castiel’s chin.  “Really?”

“Yes.  I would be okay with you calling me Cas, even when we’re not 'inside of each other,'” he quoted Dean, which made him huff out a laugh.  “If…”

“If what?”

“If I can get you your own collar.  One that is made just for you.”

Dean tightened his arm around Castiel.  “I would like that,” he whispered.

Castiel hummed, sounding pleased.  And with the solid comfort of Castiel’s chest beneath his cheek and the soothing luxury of his fingers threading through his hair, Dean fell into a deep, restful sleep.

When he awoke in the morning, he was still in Cas’— _Cas_ —arms.  He shifted and propped himself up on one elbow.  The movement jostled Castiel enough that he stirred and woke.  He blinked sleepily and then looked up at Dean.

Dean smiled.  “Mornin’, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

~~~

Dean cracked the door open to his father’s room; he was asleep on the bed.  It wasn’t the sprawl of the unconscious though.  He looked clean and like he’d just laid down for a quick nap.  Dean decided not to look a gift horse in the mouth and backed out slowly, shutting the door behind him quietly.  In the kitchen Sam was leaning against the open refrigerator door, looking thoughtfully at its contents.  Dean frowned and marched over to him.  He snatched his phone out of his pocket and snapped a picture of the inside of the fridge.

“Take a picture it’ll last longer,” he griped, and then slammed the door shut.  “That costs us money every time you do that.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but then opened the picture on his phone and continued to stare at the contents of the refrigerator.

“Well, I’ll be making my own money soon,” Sam said.

Dean turned back to him.  “What do you mean?”

“Uh, my birthday’s on Monday?”

“I know.  You think they give out ‘Congratulations, You’re Sixteen’ checks or something?’”

“How does a check mark give money?”

“Never mind,” Dean grumbled.  Was this how Castiel felt around him sometimes?

“Anyway, I just meant when I’m sixteen, I’m allowed to start working.  I thought I’d try to get a job at GameStop or RadioShack or something.”

“Sam…you don’t need to.  I make enough money.”

“Yeah, I…I was actually talking about making money so I could start paying for Warcraft…”

Dean stared at him.  And then laughed.

“What?” Sam asked, crossing his arms in insecure huffiness.

“Nothing, nothing.  I’m not laughing at you.  Well, I am a little bit, you giant nerd.  But, I guess, I’m just glad that it’s possible for you to get a job to make…spending money.  Fun money.”  Dean let out a small laugh.  “I never made money for fun.”

“Dean,” Sam said, guilt leaking into his voice.

“Aw, come on, Sam.  I don’t mean it like that.  This is a good thing.”

Sam nodded.  “Okay.  But you know, I can always help pay utilities or something.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Dean said, ruffling his hair as Sam ducked away and swatted at his hand.  “I got it covered.  Oh, speaking of which, I have to go back in for my fours hour this evening, and afterward I’m going to go hang out with Benny, so I’ll be home late.”

“I thought Benny worked on Saturdays.”

“He does.  I’m meeting him after his shift ends at ten.  That’s why I’ll be out so late.”

Sam waggled his eyebrows.  “Goin’ huntin for that lady poon?”

“What?  Gross.  What?  Sam.”

“I don’t even know,” Sam replied in a tone that implied he thought he was a moron.

“Never say that again.  Or anything like it.  You fail so hard at being a teenager.”

“Shut up!  I do not!”

“Hey, hey, shh.  Dad’s asleep.”

“So what?” Sam said with a small snarl.

Dean gave him a look.  “I’m not asking you to be quiet for him; I’m asking you to do it for me.”

“That’s playing dirty,” Sam groused, but quietly.

“I know.  Alright, I’m heading out now, so I’ll see you in the morning.  Don’t stay up too late.”

“I was gonna spend the night at Kevin’s.”

“Did you get permission from his parents?”

“His moms said it was okay.”

“His—mom _s_?”

“Yeah.  He’s got two.”

“Ah.  Well, as long as they don’t mind, I guess it’s alright.”

“Cool.”

“You nerds going to play video games all night and not even talk?”

“We’ll talk.  God.”

“About girls?” Dean asked in an obnoxious sign-song voice.  “About—” he sighed dramatically.  “Jess?”

Sam scowled, and then schooled his features and appeared nonchalant as he said, “Did you hear?  You know that kid that went missing and they couldn’t find his mom and thought maybe she kidnapped him?”

“Nice subject change,” Dean laughed as he gathered his keys and wallet.

“They found them.”

“That’s good.”

“Well, not really.  They’re dead.”

Dean looked up.  “Dead?”

“Yup.  They were totally murdered and hidden in an old crypt.  Creepy, huh?”

“Yeah.  That sucks.  Don’t get kidnapped, okay?”

“I’ll try,” Sam said sarcastically.

~~~

Castiel was back to being moody.  Dean didn’t know if he should be annoyed or not.  He certainly didn’t have time for another playroom session if he called him on his bullshit.  Plus, he supposed people went through periods when they just didn’t feel like being peppy.  Usually when people weren’t peppy, though, they didn’t make other people organize their spice rack.

“Why do you have three things of nutmeg?” Dean asked.

“I kept forgetting I already had one.”

“Don’t you have a list of every item in your household that you can cross-reference for that exact reason?”

“Well, I do now.”

Dean turned to look at him.  “I was joking.”

“You shouldn’t have been.  It’s quite helpful.  I can give you my template if you’d like to make one for your household.”

“I’m good, thanks.”

“Hn.”

“But, apparently, you’re not.  Did you not…enjoy last night?”

“That’s utterly ridiculous; you know I did.  Why are you fishing for compliments?”

“Why are you being so grouchy?”

Castiel sighed.  “Finish through the P’s and then let’s go sit in the living room.”

Dean rolled his eyes and returned to his work.  When the pumpkin pie spice was in its place (and that made Dean wonder if Castiel celebrated Thanksgiving), he stepped off the step stool to the floor and walked over to the living room.  Castiel was already sitting on one of the couches and he patted the cushion next to him.  Dean plopped down, almost on top of him, and grinned.

“Heya, Cas.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes.  “You are enjoying that entirely too much.”

“You want me to make you enjoy something too?” Dean asked and rubbed his hand along Cas’ thigh.

Castiel watched the hand move for a moment, and then he caught it in both of his and held it.

“You wanted to know why I’m grouchy, right?”

Dean sobered and nodded.  “Yes.  Do you mind sharing?”

He shrugged.  “You already know it.”

“What is it?”

“Tonight…is that party you have to go to, right?  For your old job?”

Dean felt his stomach squirm around.  “Yeah…”

Castiel looked at him.  “That’s it.  You have to go.  People are going to look at you.  Touch you.”

Dean leaned against Cas’ arm.  “One night.  And the only people touching me will be my former coworkers and trust me, nobody is particularly happy about that idea.”

Castiel scowled and turned toward Dean.  He examined him for a moment and then pushed him gently back onto the couch.  He laid on top of him and kissed him.  Dean was more than happy to make out until he had to leave, so he opened his legs and let Castiel settle between them.  Not long after, Castiel began kissing his way down Dean’s neck and onto his chest.  Then he sat back so that he could ruck Dean’s shirt up.  He started to kiss his chest and stomach, and then he starting licking, and then nibbling, and then sucking.  Dean smiled and hummed pleasantly with one hand on the back of Castiel’s head.  It wasn’t until the third time he felt the delicious ache of Castiel’s mouth sucking a mark onto his skin that he realized—Castiel was sucking marks onto his skin.  He pushed at his head.

“W-wait.  Cas.  Can’t.”

Castiel raised his head and glared down at Dean.  “Can’t what?”

“You can’t mark me up.  The party—”

“Then safe word out or take off your collar.”

Dean’s jaw dropped and he stared at Castiel in surprise.  The man kept up his challenging glare, and Dean just stared dumbly back.  Then Castiel lowered his head and began sucking another mark onto him.  Dean dropped his head back onto the couch and ran his fingers through Cas’ hair.  Ah, what did he care if the customers weren’t happy?

Castiel marked his way down Dean’s body and pulled off the yoga pants.  He sucked several small marks onto his inner thighs, Dean’s cock conveniently moving out of the way as it stiffened.  Dean’s fingers opened and closed around fistfuls of Castiel’s hair as his mouth moved to his dick.

“Mm, Cas, I-I really shouldn’t—mm, yeah.  I shouldn’t come before I perform.”

“So don’t,” Castiel said dryly and closed his lips around Dean’s cockhead.

Dean moaned happily and moved one leg off the couch so he could put his foot on the floor.  He used the leverage to rut lazily into Castiel’s mouth.  When he came, it was without one ounce of remorse.

~~~

It was odd to be back in the dark rooms of Heavenly Host with its constant throb of bass and slightly stale smell.  It felt like it had been so much longer than a month since he’d been there.  He got a couple looks from some of the guys (assholes like Christian), and there was a new guy that he didn’t know.  Crowley actually deigned to go into the backstage area so that he could lecture Dean on precisely what was expected of him.  Zachariah was a good client, but he was bringing eight other people who could potentially become regulars.  Dean half-listened and didn’t respond with anything more than a “hmm” here and there to Crowley’s subtle hints that he was more than welcome to come back permanently.

“I’ve also taken the liberty to pick the two dancers who will work with you tonight,” Crowley said in his voice that was contradictorily smooth and gravelly.

Dean started to protest but Crowley held up a hand.

“I spoke with Zachariah about the preferences of his guests.  It’s more important that we please them than you get to get feel comfortable about who you’re dancing with.”

“Oh, yes, it’s ridiculous for you to consider the comfort of your employees.”

“You’re not an employee anymore, Dean, so your opinion is even less welcome than it was before.”

Dean rolled his eyes and carefully slid on a pair of leather tear away pants over a bright red G-string.

“Now, you’ll be dancing with Nick and Alfie.  The premise is that you and Nick are seducing Alfie as you induct him into the world of stripping.”

Dean poked his head through the skin-tight white sleeveless shirt he’d just put on and gave Crowley a look.

“Seriously?”

Crowley shrugged.  “That’s what they want.”

“You realize that having a fantasy of old men seducing a young boyish man is kind of creepy and gross?”

“Alfie is twenty-five years old.”

“He looks fifteen.”

“Just, do you your job, yeah?”

Dean put his hands in the air in surrender.  “Fine.  It’s just dancing, right?  No personal dances.”

“We left that open as an option.”

Dean made a face.

“Yes, Zachariah is going to want you to sit in his lap and bounce on his cock.  Just do it.  They’re paying ten thousand dollars for this party.  The least you can do is help them get their rocks off.”

“Ten thou—and we’re getting five hundred each?”

Crowley shrugged.  “When you sign on to work here you know you get five hundred for private parties.  How much I get is inconsequential.”

“It’s a little…consequential.”  Dean made a confused face.

“Relax, daring, that is a real word.”

Dean made a face at him.  Crowley turned to the room and clapped his hands.

“Alright, boys, make tonight a good show.  We’ve got a bachelorette party, a birthday boy, and I’m pretty sure a Nebraskan state senator out there.  Make me proud.”

A soft, sarcastic cheer when up.

“Lucifer, Samandriel, Michael,” Crowley used their stage names, “make those men feel like the biggest cocks on the planet for four hours, alright?”

They waved hands in acknowledgement and headed for the hallway that led to the private rooms.  Nick was wearing all black and Alfie was…

“Oh, come on,” Dean groaned.

Alfie shrugged, his lacy cocktail dress slipping off one shoulder.  He also wore heels, stockings, and garters, and Dean knew there would be panties under the skirt.

“Exactly how pervy are we supposed to make this?” Dean grumbled.

“As much as you can,” Nick replied.  “I’m counting on getting some under the table tips out of this.”

Dean sighed again.  Had it really only been a month ago that he’d been catering to strangers’ fantasies in the hopes of getting a little tax free cash?  Was switching to full on prostitution with one single weirdo really any better?  Given the choice he’d choose Castiel in a heartbeat, even on his bad days.

The trio waited in the back hallway until they were given the thumbs up (and a sneer) from Walker.  Gordon had been hired solely for his ability to act as muscle.  Crowley didn’t seem to care that he referred to the dancers as fags and whores so long as he didn’t let the customers do anything to endanger them.  He wished Victor was around.  He hadn’t seen him since their last pick-up game and that had been about a month ago.

They entered the room, the smell of greasy appetizers thick in the air.  The buzzing conversation died down as the group of men turned to watch their entertainment for the night file into the room.  Dean’s eyes swept around the room until they landed on Zachariah.  The man toasted him with a pint glass half full of beer.  Dean gave him a nod of acknowledgement, but walked over to the iPod to pick out a playlist so that he wouldn’t have to prolong the interaction.

“Oh, come on,” one of the men laughed.  “Who picked the girly twink?  Was it you, Bart?”

The group of men laughed raucously, and then they started yelling encouragements for the dancers to start already.  Dean found a playlist that had a sultry feel to it, but an upbeat bassline.  He walked over to Nick and Alfie, and Nick slid an arm around his waist.  Dean leaned into him and looked coyly over his shoulder at the group of men.

“My name is Lucifer,” Nick said.  “And this is my brother, Michael.”

Dean discreetly pinched Nick’s side and he moved away from it, but didn’t give anything away to the audience.

“We found this cute little guy on our way to entertain you gentlemen.  I hope you don’t mind that we brought him along.  We thought little Sami here could use an education.”

The men chuckled lasciviously and Dean turned his back to them so that he could glare at Nick.

“I’m going to murder you, Nick,” he whispered.

Alfie giggled and Nick just waggled his brows at him and slapped him on the ass.  At that, the men burst into shouts and lewd commentary.  Dean and Nick took that as their cue to take up positions on either side of Alfie and to feel him up and slowly undress him over the course of the next half hour.  By the time they hit the first hour, Nick and Dean were down to their G-strings and Alfie was indeed in frilly pink panties and white stockings, one of which had partially fallen down since the garter had been unsnapped.

The three of them took a break from dancing at that point to serve dinner (though was it still dinner at eleven o’clock at night?) to the men.  Cash was tucked into what remained of their costumes and hands definitely brushed and lingered over body parts.  Alfie got pulled into someone’s lap and he stayed there and handfed the man for a few minutes.  Zachariah lifted an eyebrow at Dean and he shook his head at him, but he did feed him a perfectly cooked cube of golden potato and let Zachariah suck the butter from his finger.

They slowed the music down while the men reclined and digested their meals.  Dean remained passive as Nick slid up and down his body, grabbing and massaging various parts but avoiding his groin.  Fortunately the blowjob at Castiel’s hadn’t affected his ability to get it up for his audience.  He was only half hard from the efforts of his coworkers (sensuous touching and friction was hard to ignore after all), but it was enough for the group to be convinced he was aroused because of them.

The third hour was over when dessert was brought into the room.  Only one more hour to go and then Dean would be free of Heavenly Host forever.  Or until Castiel fired him.  One of the men grabbed Alfie’s wrist as he passed and then drizzled chocolate onto his bulging crotch.

“Oh, fuck, I’m so clumsy.  Will you be a good boy and clean that up?”

Alfie raised an unamused eyebrow at him.

“For a thousand dollars?” the man offered with a smile.

Alfie looked at Nick and Dean, but Dean could tell he was only checking to see if they would rat on him to Crowley.  Money in exchange for actual sexual acts was considered prostitution and Crowley definitely had a policy against it.  Take them outside in the back alley and he didn’t care, but not inside the legal bounds of his club.  Dean just gave him a tiny shrug.  If he needed the money and didn’t mind doing it, he wasn’t going to stand in his way.  Though Dean couldn’t understand what kind of men could drop 10 Gs on a four hour party and still have a thousand bucks to waste on a blowjob.  People could get a blowjob for twenty bucks if they went cruising the back alleys near the train yard.  Not that he had any personal experience with that, of course.

Alfie shrugged and tapped the table.  The man understood and dug out his wallet.  He put the money on the table, and Alfie got to his knees.  Another man called out to Nick, making some sort of tortured metaphor about the devil, and even though the sorry attempt at cleverness made Nick roll his eyes, he still got on his knees for the man and started sucking him off.  Several eyes turned to Dean and he gave them all a withering look.  They deflated but still pulled out their wallets, probably assuming they’d have to take turns sharing Nick and Alfie.

Dean walked over to the iPod and turned up the music a little bit so that it would be harder to hear anything from outside the room.  A hand touched his shoulder and he jumped a foot away as he turned around.  Zachariah stood with his hands in the air and a small grin on his face.

“Easy.  It’s just me.”

“I am not giving you a blowjob, Zachariah,” Dean stated plainly.

“I didn’t believe you would,” the man replied with humor.  “But, I was told that lap dances were an option.  Surely, for a thousand dollars, you can give me that much.”

Dean turned more toward him.  “One grand?”

“Yes.  But open fly.”

“Leave your underwear on.”

Zachariah made a face.  “Really?”

“Hey, I got a thousand last time and your skivvies were still on.  I’m not going to lower my standards.”

“I don’t supposed fifteen hundred would convince you to let me pull it out?”

“Nope.  You want it?  Sit down in the recliner and open your fly.”

Zachariah was grinning again and he hurriedly made his way to the leather captain’s chair that had been pushed aside to make room for the dinner table.  As Dean followed him over he saw that most of the men had their dicks out and were masturbating while they watched Alfie and Nick work.  Two of them were actually kissing over Alfie’s head.  He really hoped this whole thing didn’t devolve into some kind of sex orgy.  He was not getting paid enough for that.

Dean sat down in Zachariah’s lap and immediately felt uncomfortable.  His legs fit around him awkwardly and the placement of his very hard cock was all wrong.  He realized with a jolt that he was comparing him to Castiel and the way that he fit so naturally in his lap.  Dean put his hands on Zach’s shoulders and he put his hands on Dean’s waist.  Dean stood up immediately.

“No hands.”

“Seriously?  No special treatment tonight?”

Dean shook his head.

“Fine.  Hop back on.”

Dean sat back down and slowly began to grind his ass down onto Zachariah’s erection.  He didn’t even care if he didn’t get harder.  His goal tonight most definitely was not trying to secure Zach’s future patronage no matter what Crowley wanted.

“Are you hurt?”

Dean looked down, surprised by Zachariah’s comment.  The man was looking at his chest.

“No, why?  Am I not doing it hard enough?”

He swiveled his hips harder and Zachariah groaned and dropped his head back for a moment.  Then he looked back at Dean’s chest.

“No, no, you’re doing fine.  I was talking about the bruises.”

“What bruis—”  Dean looked down and saw the marks Castiel had left on him.

“Oh,” Zachariah said flatly.  “Not bruises.  Hickeys.”

Dean shrugged and looked away, running his hands over Zach’s shoulders to distract him.

“Have you gotten yourself a boyfriend, Michael?”

Dean didn’t reply.  The disappointment on Zachariah’s face morphed into a sly smile.

“Have you gotten yourself a _client_ , Michael?”

Dean dropped his eyes and Zachariah chuckled.

“So.  You do have a price.”

Dean looked up, eyes flashing as he glared at the man.  Zachariah put his hands on Dean’s hips and when he tried to pull away, the man’s grip tightened and prevented him from moving.

“Whatever it is, I’ll double it,” Zachariah said.

“It’s not what you think,” Dean said.  “Let go.”

“I can make you happy, Michael.  I have more money than you’ve ever even dreamed of.  I can buy you anything, take you anywhere.  All you have to do is be mine.”

Dean stared in shock.  Was he asking him to be his kept man?

“I don’t—”

Dean squeaked as Zach’s arms wrapped around his body and the man leaned forward and kissed his shoulder.  Dean struggled against him and was able to break away and stand up.

“No.  Alright?  No, always.  I’m not interested.”

“I have had enough of this behavior, Michael,” Zach snapped.  “Do you think you’re too good for me?  Do you know who I am?  The fact that you don’t is proof that you’re an uncultured nobody who will never amount to anything other than a twenty minute entertainment.  Your looks will fade, boy.  You can’t be a stripper forever.  Are you working to put yourself through school?  You’ve been here three years, and you had to be at least twenty when you started.  Should be done with that degree by now.  But you’re not.  Because you have no education, and you have no prospects.”

Zachariah got to his feet and Dean backed up a couple of steps.

“You think you’re too good for _me_?  I could afford so much better than you.  You should feel honored that I even glanced in your direction.”

Dean swallowed and clenched his teeth to ward off the tears.  He wasn’t upset, not really, after all he didn’t care what Zachariah thought of him.  But…it still sucked to have those kinds of words and insults flung at him.  The room had gone silent except for the music.  Alfie and Nick were still on their knees, but they were looking over at him, along with the other party goers.  Dean looked up and met Zachariah’s eyes.

“That may all be true, but I have the free will to make stupid decisions like walk away from the best offer I’ll ever get in this life.”

He turned to walk toward the door that led backstage.

“Why?” Zachariah demanded.  “Why would you walk away?”

“Because,” Dean said, not bothering to look back, “I know for a fact you’re not the best offer I’ll ever get.”

He walked through the door and slammed it closed.  He immediately showered and dressed, and then walked into Crowley’s office with only a cursory knock.

“Dean.  You’re done early.  Did anything happen?”

“No.  Nick and Alfie are still there.  I think.  But, I wanted you to know that this is the last job for me.  I’ve fulfilled all my obligations.”

“You have.  And?”

“And if Zachariah complains and asks for some of his money back, you can tell him that the no touching rule applies even during private parties and that dancers have the right to leave if that rule is violated.”

“Shit,” Crowley sighed as he rubbed his forehead tiredly.  “What happened?”

“Nothing terrible.  I just walked out.  I wanted to let you know that that didn’t happen until after Zachariah laid his hands on me after being given one warning.”

“Alright then.”  Crowley studied him.  “You alright, Dean?”

“Yeah.  I’m fine.  I’m just…done.”

“Found a better offer, did you?”

“Honestly, my new job has nothing to do with my decision to stop entertaining Zachariah.”

“I see.  And what is this new job?  If I may ask?”

“Uh.  Waiter.  At a restaurant in Blair.”

Crowley gave him a look to let him know he knew he was full of shit.  Then he strummed his fingers on his desk.

“You know, I saw you one night at Sweet Things.”

Dean tried to suppress his shock.

“I was downstairs visiting my favorite dominatrix, when I saw your pretty ass saunter by.  At the time I thought you were a customer, looking for the S to your M.”

Dean couldn’t hide his surprise that time.  Could everybody tell he was a masochist?  He hadn’t even really known it himself until Gabriel had told him.

“But, now I’m thinking you were the employee.  Be careful there, Dean.”

“The owner of Sweet Things is—”

“Yes, yes, I know Gabriel Milton.  We go way back.”

“Y-you do?” Dean asked weakly.  Did he know Cas?

“We’ve been business rivals for some time now, as you might imagine.  I’m not concerned that you would be in danger of your life there.  Milton is a smarmy ass, but he takes care of his kids.  I know the money for doing that sort of thing is better than what you can make here, but be wary of doing the submissive and/or masochist thing full time.”

“W-why?”

“It takes a toll on you.  In a relationship, it can be the thing that binds two people together.  Gives them a stronger and happier relationship than most vanilla couples could ever dream of.  But…when it’s just business…things can get awfully complicated.  If you decide to stick with it, my advice to you is not to get any regular customers.  Never let someone see you more than once every month or two.”

Dean barely refrained from laughing out loud.  Eight hours a day almost every day most certainly violated that rule.

“Good luck, Dean.  And enjoy it.  So few of us get to have a job doing something we really love to do.”

“Th-thanks.  I guess.”  Dean started to leave.

“Oh, and Dean?”

_Of course._   Dean sighed and turned back.

“All of the strip joints within twenty miles of here have signed a non-compete contract.  If you try to get a job at a strip club, even a straight one, anywhere around here for the next two years, you’ll be shit of luck.”

Dean gaped at him.  “Seriously?”

“We didn’t want one club who paid their employees more than peanuts to make us all have to start doing that.”

Dean made a face and Crowley laughed.

“You’re always welcome back here, Dean.  With open arms.”

“Buzz off, Crowley.”

The man just chuckled as Dean left his office.

~~~

 Dean got home around two and tossed his keys onto the table beside the door.  He was confused as it sounded like they had fallen farther than a few inches and hit the floor.  Had Sam moved the table?  He took a step into the apartment and tripped over something that nearly sent him sprawling to the floor.  He backed up and found the light switch on the wall.  When light flooded the room, he gasped.

For a moment, he thought they had been robbed, but he had definitely unlocked the door and the deadbolt.  Perhaps the crooks had used a window?  But immediately he could tell that nothing was missing, none of the high priced items anyway.  The place was just a disaster.  Furniture knocked oven, trinkets smashed, odds and ends tossed all around the room.  Dean walked carefully through the mess and saw that the kitchen was in a similar state.  His father must have been looking for his stash of alcohol.  Dean periodically found a new hiding spot and threw away the booze he found, but he knew there were places he hadn’t discovered yet.  And when he was already drunk, his father must have forgotten which still had anything in them.  His chest squeezing tight, Dean walked down the hall and looked in his father’s room.

Not a single thing had been left undisturbed.  The dresser was on its side, clothes were flung everywhere, and the alarm clock from the nightstand was smashed to bits.  The mattress was half off the frame and his father was passed out on the floor halfway in the bathroom.  He walked over and checked to make sure that he still had a pulse and that there wasn’t any vomit blocking his airways.  He turned him to his side so that if he did puke he wouldn’t drown in it.

He walked calmly to his room, and then crouched down in the corner.  He placed his fists against the wall and pressed hard, his whole body tight and stiff and shaking.  He stopped himself from screaming but he closed his eyes and shoved his energy into his arms as he tried to break through the wall.  After ten minutes, he’d managed to calm himself down enough that he could stand up and go back to the front rooms.  He spent all night cleaning everything up and hiding the items that were too damaged to leave out.  He finished before Sam came home and crashed into his bed about an hour after the sun had come up.

He was grateful he was able to sleep most of Sunday away.  When he got up that afternoon his father was gone, his room was still a wreck, but as far as Dean knew Sam was still oblivious to what had happened on Saturday night.  He went to bed early, which made Sam look at him a little strangely, but he just wanted tomorrow to come.  He wanted to go to Castiel’s.  He wanted to put on his collar and get naked and kneel at his feet and just let Castiel take control.  That’s all he wanted.  Moody or otherwise, at least he knew that Castiel would adhere to his routine.  Dean could understand the appeal of routine now.  It’s what he needed and what he craved and he knew he could count on Castiel to give it to him.

~~~

“Leave your clothes on,” Castiel said.

Dean stood precariously on one foot as he was in the process of taking one sock off.  He put his foot down and stood motionless, unsure of what to do next.

“Do we need to talk?”

“No.  You can put your collar on.”

Dean rubbed the tips of his fingers against his thumb as he processed that with a small, confused frown.

“You want me to put my collar on, but stay dressed.”

“Yes.  Or you can do what you usually do, but once the collar is on I’ll ask you to redress.  I’m just trying to save you a little time.”

“Ah.”  Still confused, Dean got his collar box out of the footlocker.  He buckled the crimson strip of vinyl around his neck and replaced the box in the footlocker.  Then he stood up and put his hands in his pockets, but that just felt weird since he should be naked.  He took his hands out and stood awkwardly.

“This way,” Castiel said and led them over to the living room.

Castiel sat on the floor and crossed his legs under the new coffee table (which was solid wood).  Dean saw that there were board game boxes stacked at one end and decided to stand on the opposite side of the table from Cas.

“Sit down.”

Dean sat down cross-legged and scooted up close to the table.  He glanced at the games, and then at Castiel.

“What?” Castiel asked.

“We’re, uh, gonna play a game?”

“Yes.  You pick.”

Dean started to feel that weird discomfort he’d felt when he’d initially started working for Castiel.  Not that they’d ever settled into what either would call complete ease and familiarity with each other, they’d reached an equilibrium.  Castiel’s current behavior was off-putting and unfamiliar and it made Dean antsy.  But he was in his collar and he was supposed to obey.

“Monopoly.”

“Set it up.”  Castiel stood.  “I want to be the hat.”  Then he walked out of the room and into the hallway.

Dean sighed softly so Castiel wouldn’t hear him and used setting up the board to keep his thoughts from running wild.  He was just finishing counting their initial starting money when Cas returned and sat on the floor again.  He collected his money and ordered it from highest to lowest denomination and tucked the ends under the board.

“Do you want to be banker?” Dean asked.

“Yes.  You handle the properties.”

“Okay.”

“We roll to see who goes first.  I—oh.  You chose to be the iron?”

“Yes.  Is that not okay?”

“No, it’s fine.  I just thought you’d be the car or the battleship.”

“That’s racist,” Dean tutted.

“In what possible way is that racist?”

“I’m making a joke, Cas.”

“Well, if you make more in the future, make sure they’re funny.”

Dean gave him an unamused look and picked up a die.  He rolled it and got a three.  Castiel rolled a one.

“Tough break,” Dean said as he picked up both dice to roll again.

“The game doesn’t need a running commentary,” Castiel said dryly.

Dean made a face and moved his lips in silent mock mimicry and rolled the dice.  The game began.  On his first trip around the board Dean picked up a railroad, St James Place, Marvin Gardens, and won second prize in a beauty contest.  Castiel got Baltic Avenue, income taxes, and landed in jail, but managed to grab Park Place before hitting Go! and collecting two hundred dollars.  On Dean’s next turn he landed on Baltic Avenue.

“That’s four dollars and one article of clothing,” Castiel said.

Dean looked up from sorting through his mess of bills.  “We’re playing strip Monopoly?”

In response Castiel held out his hand for payment.  Dean gave a quick lift of his eyebrows as he mouthed, “Okay.”  He shrugged out of his red plaid over shirt, balled it up, and tossed it over Castiel’s head to land half-on the couch behind him.  Then he counted out four dollars and put the bills in Castiel’s hand.

“Your turn,” Dean said.

Castiel scooped the dice into his hand and rattled them around for at least three seconds before spilling them onto the board.

“Ooo.  Doubles.  Careful, you don’t want to wind up in jail again.”

Castiel’s eyes narrowed to slits and he moved his piece forward by thumping his hat against each square a little harder than was strictly necessary.  He landed on Chance.  Dean picked up the card (as he was in charge of Chance and Castiel Community Chest), and grinned.

“’Advance token to the nearest Railroad and pay the owner Twice the Rental to which he/she is otherwise entitled.  If Railroad is UNOWNED, you may buy it from the Bank.’  But that last part is unnecessary because the nearest railroad is the Pennsylvania Line and I just happen to own it.  So, that’s, ooo.  Fifty dollars.”

Castiel began counting his money.

“Fifty dollars and…”  Dean hesitated.  As much he enjoyed Castiel’s naked body, he spotted an opportunity here.  “Fifty dollars and I can ask one non-personal question that you have to answer.”

Castiel looked up.  His eyes narrowed again.  Dean raised his eyebrows in challenge.  Castiel heaved a sigh and counted out the rest of the money.  He put it in Dean’s waiting hand, and then sat back and crossed his arms in a huff as Dean counted it.

“You think I’m cheating?”

“No.”  Dean tossed the money hap hazardously into his pile.  “What’s your favorite color?”

“Fulvous.  Your turn.”

Dean futzed with one of the die in his hands.  “Is that a kind of pink?”

“Is what a kind of pink?”

“Your favorite color.  Vulvous or whatever.”

Cas snorted and for the first time since he’d arrived a small smile appeared on his face.  “You think my favorite color is the pink of a vulva?”

“That’s what you said!”

“I said fulvous.  Fffffffulvous.  It’s a kind of yellow.”

“So why didn’t you just say yellow?”

“It’s a specific shade of yellow.”

“Is it?  Is it really?  All shades of color are the same.  Cerulean, azure, navy—they can all be described as blue, can’t they?”

“Yes, but surely you can see the difference between cerulean and navy?”

“Yeah, but I don’t care what they’re called.”

“Details are important, Dean.”

Dean met Cas’ eyes, fingered his collar, and said, “If you say so.”

Castiel rolled his eyes and sat back against the couch in a snit.  He made a face and sat up, reaching behind him to pull Dean’s shirt off the couch so it wasn’t bunched up under him when he leaned back.  He played with the sleeve of the shirt and nodded his head toward Dean.

“It’s still your turn.”

Dean smirked and rolled the dice.  Four hours later, he had learned that Castiel’s favorite animal was a bee, he’d majored in computer engineering with a minor in religious studies, his shoe size was a twelve, his first kiss had been with a lesbian (and he was surprised Cas had answered that one), he liked the fresh squeezed juice of fruits and vegetables but he detested pulp, and his favorite book was _Watership Down_ , which Dean had never heard of but figured it was something to do with naval history or agriculture or the drought in California or something.  Dean himself was down to his skivvies (which was actually a good thing because mayonnaise from his sandwich during their lunch break had dribbled down onto his chest).  Cas had picked up Boardwalk on his second time around and Dean couldn’t make it to Go! without landing on it or Park Place with two hotels each.

“Son of a bitch,” Dean grumbled as his iron landed on Park Place.  He didn’t have enough money to pay Cas, so he just started taking off his underwear.

“Stop,” Castiel said.  “I don’t want you naked.”

Dean raised his eyebrows.

“Not yet.”

Dean nodded.  That’s what he thought.

“As payment, I want you to play with your nipples until I’m done with my turn.”

Dean leaned back against the couch and lightly rolled his nipples between his thumbs and index fingers.  Castiel picked up the dice and shook them in his hand lazily.  He continued to shake the dice, eyes on Dean.  Dean rolled his fingers harder and sucked in air through his teeth.  Castiel leaned an elbow on the table and then put his chin in his hand.  His eyes stayed glued to Dean as he rattled the dice around in his hand.  Dean bit his lip and used his thumbs to rub the peaks around in circles.

“You gonna roll the dice, Cas?”

“Eventually.”  Cas heaved a sigh.  “I want my mouth there instead of your fingers.”

Dean hummed, pleased, and spread his legs out under the table, giving his erection room in his boxer-briefs.

“So, do something about it.”

“Can’t.  It’s my turn.”  Cas tossed the dice onto the board and began counting out his moves.

Dean dropped his head back as he began to pinch and pull on his nipples.

“Aha!” Cas said.  “Indiana Avenue.  Now, if I buy this property…”  Cas looked up.  “My turn isn’t over.”

Dean huffed and resumed playing with his nipples.  He nudged Cas’ knee with his toe.  Cas sent him a glare and Dean backed off.

“If I buy Indiana Avenue, I’ll own all the reds, and combined with the blues, the dark purples, the light blues, the utilities, and the greens…why, I’ll have a monopoly.”

“Good for you,” Dean said through gritted teeth and tried not to squirm under his own ministrations.  “So, you won the game.”

“Not yet, I’m still deciding.”

“Fuck, Cas, if you want to suck my nipples just do it.  Don’t be a sore winner too.”

Castiel smiled.  “Stop touching yourself.”

Dean dropped his hands to his sides, but he didn’t feel relief; his nipples just throbbed with the phantom sensation of being teased.  Cas counted out some money and threw it at the bank.

“Looks like I win.”

“What’s your prize?” Dean asked.

“I get to pick the next game.”

“Hunh?”  Dean’s arousal was cut in half with the surprise.  Another game?

“Twister.”

“Seriously?”

“Set it up.  I’ll be right back.”

Castiel disappeared again and Dean let his head drop back onto the couch cushion.  Now he was confused and horny.  This could just be Cas fucking with him because he liked to do that sometimes.  But…something seemed off.  If Castiel was having an off day, then he really needed to be obedient, so he cleaned up Monopoly, moved the coffee table out of the way, and spread out the Twister sheet.  Castiel returned with a piece of paper in his hand.

“These games used belong to Gabriel and Anna and—and I when we were kids.  A lot of them are missing pieces and the instructions, which is why I never play with them.  It drives me nuts.”

“I bet,” Dean said dryly.

“So, I printed out a copy of the rules for Twister, so that we can play it correctly.”

“What’s not to know?  Spin the thingy, put your hand or foot where it tells you.”

“Hmm, yes, but it’s not only one person at a time; everyone moves at the same time.”

“Right.  Old news.”

Castiel made a face and read off the sheet, “For a two player game: Players face each other from opposite ends of the mat, near the word Twister.  Place one foot on the yellow circle and the other foot on the blue circle closest to your end of the mat.  Your opponent does the same on his or her end.”

Castiel waved a hand at Dean and he moved to obey.  Castiel lined himself up on the board too.

“You can’t put your limb on an already occupied dot.  You have to go to an empty one.”

“What if there are no empty ones?”

Castiel looked up.  “There’s only two of us, Dean.”

“Right, but…never mind.”

“Now.  Ah, this is interesting.  If there are only two players and no referee, you can play without using the spinner.  One player calls out the body part; the other player calls out the circle color.  Players alternate turns calling out the body part first.”

“No.  No way.  That sounds rigged.”

“It’s in the rules,” Castiel said, flapping the paper at him.  “And we split the directions on each turn and alternate who starts.  That sounds fair.”

“Does it?”

Castiel set the rules down and nudged the spinner away with his toe.

“Left foot,” Castiel said.

Dean put his hands on his hips and stared Castiel down, feeling marginally ridiculous that he was only in his underwear.  Castiel waited patiently.

“Green,” Dean said.

They both moved.  Dean was able to move his foot over and rest comfortably.  Castiel had to cross his left leg over his right and was faced with the decision of standing twisted or turning his back to Dean.  He turned his back to him.

“Right hand,” Dean said.

“Yellow,” Castiel said.

Dean bent over and grinned as Castiel had to lean back and hold himself up with one hand.

“Left hand,” Castiel huffed out.

“Yellow,” Dean said with a laugh.

Castiel had to tuck his other hand underneath him.  Dean continued to snicker as he looked at Cas with his hands behind his back and his legs splayed out.

“You look hot like this,” Dean said.

“Ugh, bite me, Winchester.”

Dean laughed again.

It barely took five minutes for them to move around to slightly more comfortable positions.  Positions that had them twisting and rubbing up against each other.  He wasn’t sure if it was the natural progression of the game or if they had kind of subconsciously moved themselves into their current state.

Dean was now the one in the uncomfortable position of having his back to the mat, his legs not too far apart as to make him unstable, but far enough apart that one of Castiel’s legs slotted between them easily.  Castiel was over him with one arm on either side of his head.  A few moments ago they had forgotten whose turn it was to call out the body part and they were just grinding their groins together.

Dean groaned softly and tried to push up harder, but Castiel was the only one with any leverage and he only seemed interested in nuzzling along Dean’s jaw.  They moved together a little bit and while it felt great, Dean could feel his arms starting to give out.

“C-Cas…”

“Mn, Dean, you smell so good.”  His tongue flicked out and licked his jaw line.  “You don’t normally smell like this.”

“That’s because you always bathe me with your scented soaps.”

“Oh, right,” Castiel licked him again and then froze.  “Oh, God.  You haven’t bathed…”

Like a freaked out cat, Dean could actually see Castiel’s pupils dilating with fear.  He needed to do something quickly or he knew the guy was going to full on flip his shit.  Dean dropped his head back and exposed his neck.

“Mark me, Cas.”

“W-what?”

“Don’t you want to?  Put a mark on my _exquisite_ neck?”

“C-c—may I?”

“Yes.”

Castiel leaned forward and his lips latched onto his neck over his pulse point.  Dean gasp-moaned and his arms gave out on him.  Castiel collapsed on top of him and continued to suck on his neck as he rutted between his legs.  Dean put his hands in Castiel’s hair and tried to arch his neck even more.  Castiel bit down and Dean lost it.  He bucked up into Castiel and pulled him closer, groaning loudly.

“Do it, do it, Cas, go on.  Harder.  Harder,” he grunted between clenched teeth.

But Castiel backed off and licked the tender spot instead.

“Come on, please, fuck, Cas, I want it.”

“I can’t break the skin,” Castiel murmured.

“Jesus, fuck the arrangement,” Dean whined, tossing his head to the other side and putting a hand to Castiel’s ass so that he could push their erections together harder.

Castiel sat up suddenly and slapped Dean across the face.  Hard.  He didn’t pull this one and the shock made Dean go still and open his eyes.

“What’s your safe word, Dean?”

“W-what?”

“What’s your safe word?”

Dean swallowed around his heaving breaths and actually had to think for a moment.  He calmed slightly as he remembered and said, “Sixty-seven.”

“Shall we continue?”

Dean nodded.  “Yes, sir.”

Castiel leaned down and kissed him, and then they were grinding and rutting and rolling around on the floor like a couple of wild animals.  They both came, still clothed, and with light scratches and teeth marks all over their exposed skin.  They panted in a sweaty pile on the floor.

“This was…” Castiel started.

“Awesome?” Dean breathed.

“Unsanitary.”

Dean chuckled.  “Yeah, I guess so.  But you did it, huh?  And nothing bad happened.”

“Yeah…”

“You wanna go take a bath?”

“Yes.  Yes, I think I need to.”

“Okay.”

They groaned softly as they got to their feet, a little sore from their activities.  Castiel made Dean gather his clothing and leave it at the footlocker.  Dean was not particularly happy about the thought of leaving his jizzed on underwear wadded up with the jeans he had to wear home, but Castiel was already on edge as it was.  They both washed with soap and wash cloths under the showerhead, and then Castiel led them to the onsen.  Dean relaxed in the warm water, breathed in the steam, and liked the feeling of Castiel’s strong arm under his neck.  Castiel sat beside him, uncomplaining, as he had to leave his arm out of the water and on the edge of the tub so that Dean could use it as a pillow.

They soaked in silence, occasionally brushing together as Dean floated into Cas.  Eventually Castiel had to pull his arm out from under Dean’s head before it went dead.  Dean started to shift away, but Cas wrapped his arm around his waist and pulled him close.  Their combined weight settled them on the warm, smooth wooden bench beneath them.

“Hey,” Castiel said, his voice slightly echoing in the cavernous room.

“Yeah?”

“I’m—uh.  I’m sorry I was so…moody these past few days.”

“S’alright.”

“Thank you.”

They were quiet and Dean wondered if that was really all Castiel was going to say about it.  Then he realized, of course that was all he was going to say about it.  Socially awkward weirdo that he was.

“Can I ask…why you were so…unhappy?”

“I wasn’t unhappy.  It was more like…well…it was because of the party.”

“What party?”

“Your work engagement that you attended Saturday night.”

Dean went very still and felt his stomach turn.  Of course.  Castiel was disgusted with him.  He probably hadn’t wanted to touch him and Dean had pushed and pushed and that’s what had led to that scene in the play room.  God, Castiel probably hadn’t wanted to do it.  Dean sat up and started to push away, but Castiel wrapped his arms around his middle and pulled him back until he was float-sitting in his lap.  Cas kissed the back of his neck and nuzzled his nose into his damp hair.

“Don’t misunderstand me, Dean.  I wasn’t upset because you were going to be touched by strange men—well, actually, yes that’s part of it.  But it wasn’t because you were going to allow it to happen—well, that bothered me too.  But it wasn’t that I blamed you for this…”

Dean sighed.  “I get it.”

“No, you don’t because I haven’t told you.”  Castiel nipped his shoulder.  “Hush.”

A chill skittered along his body from where Castiel had bit him, raising gooseflesh on his exposed skin.

“I was being…the way I was…because…”

Some of Dean’s discomfort was eased by his amusement at Castiel’s clear struggle to express himself.  Finally the man sighed long and heavily.

“I was jealous,” he said like it was an effort to speak the words.

Dean took that in.  “Jealous?”

“Yes, jealous.  I understand our relationship, such as it is, is a business arrangement, but, that doesn’t mean that I have to be okay with the idea of other men pawing at you.  Did they paw at you?”

Dean smiled and relaxed back against Castiel’s chest.  “One did.”

“Did you make him stop?”

“I did.”

“Good.”  There was a pause.  “What were you wearing?”

Dean smiled and lifted one of Cas’ hands out of the water so that he could play with his fingers.  “You ever been to a strip joint, Cas?  I mean…before.”

“No.  I’ve never been.”

“Hmm.  Don’t worry, you’re not missing much.”

“But…”  Castiel trailed off and Dean could feel a huff of air against the back of his neck.

“You want me to give you a private show sometime?”

“Yes.”

Dean’s eyes widened.  Shit.  He didn’t think he’d agree so eagerly.

“But not today.  I’ll find you a costume.”

Double shit.  Dean shook his head and then rested it on Castiel’s shoulder, enjoying the comfort and intimacy of the moment, but refusing to acknowledge it.  Then Castiel’s fingers curled around his.

“Do you forgive me?”

“Forgive you?”  Dean sat up and turned to face Cas.  “For what?”

“For taking my problem out on you.  Gabriel tells me I do that all time.  That I did it even before…well, before.  He says if I’m going to be a freak about everything else and force people to live by my standards, the least I can do is recognize my faults and try to correct them.”

“Hmm.  I can’t tell if Gabriel is a good brother or just a manipulative jerk.”

“He’s a bit of both.”

Dean smiled.  Then his smile slowly faded as he continued to stare at Cas.  The man’s hand rubbed soothingly over his back.  They both leaned forward at the same time, meeting in a tame kiss.  The kiss continued and gradually became decidedly less tame.  Dean had his arms wrapped tightly around Castiel’s neck and was happily licking into his mouth with each press of their lips when he felt the man jostle him slightly.

“What?” Dean asked with a whine against his lips.

“Not in the onsen.”

“Come on.  It’s just a little kissing.”

“It won’t stay that way.”

Dean grinned.  “I hope not.”

Cas laughed and stroked a hand down his face, but then used it to push him away.  Dean grunted.

“Hang on.  We can do that later, but there’s something I wanted to do this afternoon.”

“What’s that?”

“I wanted us to…design your collar together.”

“Oh.”  Dean sat up straight.  “Oh.”

“Would you like to do that?”

Dean nodded.

“Okay.  You realize that means we have to get out, right?”

Dean grumbled, but complied.  Castiel didn’t make them do more than a perfunctory pat down with a towel and then they stopped by the bedroom to pull on yoga pants.  Dean loved it when Castiel put on fitted clothes.  It not only made his body look good, but it spoke volumes about his current mental state.  Once partially dressed, they went to the office and rather than have Dean sit on his pillow on the floor, Castiel pulled him into his lap.  Castiel opened a website that specialized in custom BDSM gear.  Dean snorted.

“Got that bookmarked, do you?”

“Hush.  Now, single or double strap?”

They spent the next thirty minutes using a “build your own collar” wizard to pick out a style and color.  Dean would have been happy with plain black, but Castiel convinced him that a pop of green would be nice because it would offset his eyes.  Dean figured since Castiel was the one who would be looking at it the most, he might as well please his aesthetics a bit.  They discussed whether or not it should have a lining since it was bound to be damaged by water.  Dean had joked that he’d wanted the fur lining, but in the end they went with soft lambskin.  They decided that Dean should continue to wear the vinyl collar for bathing, and then switch to his new collar afterwards.  The longest part of the debate was whether or not it should be decorated.  Dean had been firmly against it, but Castiel had done his best to convince him that a little hardware would make things more exciting.  Dean still couldn’t believe he was getting a collar with studs on it, but Castiel was grinning ear to ear as he placed his order for the—holy crap—seventy dollar collar.  Plus an additional one hundred fifty from the site that built handmade boxes.  He’d chosen a dark mahogany wood with a white fur lining.

“Okay, Cas, seriously, what is up with all the white fur?”

“You don’t like it?”

“It’s a little…”

“A little what?”

Dean looked at Castiel’s challenging look.  He just laughed softly and shook his head.

“Nothing.”

Then he leaned forward and kissed him.  Castiel kissed him back and then shifted to put a hand to the back of Dean’s neck.  The slight change in balance made the chair suddenly tilt and creak and they both hopped off in fear that they were about to be dumped onto the floor.  They looked at the chair, and then laughed nervously.  Then Castiel took Dean’s hand and pulled him close to pick up where they had so rudely been interrupted.  Dean ran his hands down the smooth, soft skin of Castiel’s sides.

“Take me to bed?”

“Yeah…”

They stumbled to Castiel’s bedroom kissing and groping and laughing at their awkward bump into the doorjamb.  Castiel laid Dean out on the bed and crawled on top of him, their lips coming together again like they couldn’t go for more than a few seconds without kissing.  Dean ran his hands up Castiel’s back, getting even more turned on as he felt powerful muscles rippling under them.

“Dean,” Castiel said, kissing his cheek, his jaw, under his ear.  “Is there something you’d like to do?”

“Mm…I can pick the kink?”

“Sure.”

“Penetration.”

Castiel stopped and propped himself up on one elbow so that he could look at Dean.

“I want to feel you inside me again.”

Cas nodded vaguely, and then with authority.  “Okay.”

He retrieved a bottle of lube from the nightstand, and then kissed Dean continuously as he spent five minutes prepping him with his fingers.  He slid in easily and put his arms under Dean’s back and then cupped his shoulders with his hands.  He rocked into Dean and resumed kissing him.  Dean’s legs were spread and his knees pulled up toward his chest, but it was an unstressed, natural position.

The buildup was slow and lazy, but the payoff was amazing.  Dean came with one hand clutching Cas’ shoulder, the other buried in his hair as the man sucked another dark, deep mark onto his throat.  He hummed and moaned through his orgasm, clenching around Castiel when he felt him starting to come.  Cas finally let go of his neck when he had to lift his head and pant through his pleasure.  Then he was kissing Dean again and pulling him close, and Dean ignored the voice telling him he should check the clock because it was probably close to four.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dean’s collar.
> 
>  


	9. Chapter 9

Dean balanced the cake box in one hand as he unlocked the door to his apartment.  He hoped that the story that he’d made a trip to the bakery after work would be a good enough excuse for why he was late getting home.  Staying past the end of his shift so that his dom could lick his come out of his ass and then tongue feed it to him probably wouldn’t go over so well.  And while he was still a little on the fence about felching, the fact that Castiel had done it had eased the anxiety brought on by the fact that they had had totally normal, vanilla missionary sex.  That just seemed a little too personal for their arrangement.

“Sammy?” Dean called out, tossing his keys on the table (that was where it should be).  “Dad?”

“He’s not here,” Sam called back from the living room.  He must be laying down on the couch since Dean couldn’t see him.

“I got you a cake.”

Predictably, his brother’s head popped up gopher style.  “Really?  Chocolate?”

“Yep.  Have you picked where you want to go to dinner?”

“Can we try your new restaurant?”

“No way.  I spend all day around that food; the last thing I want to do is eat it.”

“Hmm…alright then.  How about…where’s that place we got those awesome burritos?”

Dean set the cake on the counter.  “Chipotle’s?”

“No man, like, the one with the sauce on it.  Don Juan?”

“Don Pedro, you goob.”

“Whatever.  I want Mexican.”

Dean sighed loudly.

“What?  What’s wrong with Mexican?”

“Nothing’s wrong with the food.  It’s what your butt does afterwards.  We’ll have to drive home with the windows down.”

Sam gave him a look that could kill kudzu.  “It’s my birthday, and I’ll fart if I want to.”

Dean laughed.  “What did I do to deserve such a lame little brother?”

“Please.  I’m the best thing about your life.”

Dean glanced at him, and then turned away to put the ice cream in the refrigerator so that Sam wouldn’t see the sappy look on his face.  Sam was the best thing about his life.  Pain in the ass and all.  But then his brain supplied him with the memory of a lazy afternoon, curled up on the couch with Cas, reading some Victorian era novel that he should hate but kind of liked.  Contentment.  That’s what he had felt in that moment, and it was the first time he’d ever come close to it.  Which meant, he should stop thinking about it.

“Okay.  Go change your shirt and we’ll head out.”

Sam grumbled, but rolled off the couch and started for his bedroom.  He pulled up short as he passed by Dean.

“Holy crap!  Dean, what happened to your neck?!”

Dean’s hand flew to his throat, expecting to find blood or something, but then he felt the moderate pain from pushing on one of Castiel’s hickeys.  Oh, yeah.  This was why he’d told Cas to never mark him where clothes couldn’t cover.

“Oh, uh, this isn’t—”

“Did you get mugged or something?”

“What?  No.  Sam.  You’re sixteen today.  Please tell me you’ve seen hickeys before.”

“Hickeys?  I thought you were at work.”

“I was.”

“How do you get a hickey waiting tables?”

“We do get to have breaks.”

“Sooooo….you went on break, and got a hickey from a coworker or, gosh please not a customer, before going out and serving more people?”

Dean made a face.  This story was beyond weak.  “Uh.  Yep.”

“I don’t know whether to be impressed or disgusted.”

“Go change your shirt.”

Sam left and Dean ducked into the bathroom to check out his neck.  There were a couple of faint marks and a couple darker ones, but there was one that was definitely very large and very dark.  Dean brushed his fingers over it and felt that calm he felt when he was collared.  He leaned closer to the mirror.  There were faint teeth marks around the mark.

“Jesus,” Dean muttered around an embarrassed chuckle.

“Okay, I’m changed!  Where are you?”

Dan flushed the toilet and walked out to the living.  “Just using the bathroom.  You ready to go?”

“Yeah.  We don’t have to wait for Dad, do we?”

“No, there’s no telling when he’ll be back, so—”

The apartment door rattled and Sam cursed under his breath.

“Hey,” Dean warned.

John entered carrying a bag from GameStop.  He stopped when he saw his sons staring at him.

“H-hey.  Uh, happy birthday, Sam.”

“Thanks, Dad.”

“I, uh, got you this.  I know it’s a little outdated and it’s used, but I figured anything would be an upgrade from that thing you guys have had since you were kids.”

Sam walked forward and took the bag.  He peeked inside, and then grinned.

“Sweet!  It’s a PS3, Dean!”

“Awesome,” he said, eyes on his father.

Sam ran around the couch and sat in front the TV as he pulled out the box.

“Hey, don’t pull that out now; we’re going to dinner.”

“Just a sec.”

Dean walked over to his father and spoke softly.

“It was nice of you to get him that.  Though he’ll be disappointed if he comes home one day and finds it smashed against a wall.”

John looked guiltily at his feet.  “Dean…I…what happened…I wish I could explain…”

“Save it.  I don’t want to hear it even if you could come up with some bullshit excuse.”

They stood in tense silence for a moment, and then Dean rolled his shoulders, releasing the tension.

“So, we’re going to Don Pedro’s for dinner.  You wanna come?”

“Sure.  I’d like that.  If we can drive home with the windows down,” he added with a nod toward Sam.

Dean sniggered and glanced at his little brother.  “Where did he get that from?”

“Your mother.  Let me tell you, she could let ‘em rip.”

“Dad!” Dean laughed harder and picked up his keys.

“I’m serious.  Face of angel, ass of a skunk.”

Dean laughed harder and Sam walked up with a confused look on his face.

“Who has the ass of a skunk?”

“No one.  Come on, let’s go.  It’s still a school night for you.”

“Don’t remind me,” Sam grumbled.  “I’ve got quiz in chemistry tomorrow.”

“Are you doing anything with your friends for your birthday?” John asked as they left the apartment.

Sam glanced at Dean, and he gave him a look letting him know he needed to answer.

“Yeah, we’re going to the movies this weekend and then hanging out at Aladdin’s Palace.”

John glanced at Dean.

“It’s an arcade.”

“Ah.”

Dean held open the door to the stairs for Sam and then looked back to find that his father had stopped in the middle of the hall.

“Dad?”

“Um.  I…I just realized I have to—”  His voice cracked and Dean was alarmed by the sudden wash of emotions over his father’s face.  Then John turned and struggled with his keys until he could get back into the apartment.  Sam popped his head back into the hallway.

“Where’s Dad?” 

“Um.  I think it’s just us tonight.”

“Of course,” Sam sighed.

~~~

The next day Castiel kept sending him smug smiles.  It creeped Dean out and Castiel only laughed at him when he told him so.  He was in a bit of a controlling mood that day, so almost every action Dean performed was a direct instruction from Cas, but he didn’t mind.  Letting his mind blank out completely because someone else was making his choices for him was a welcomed relief.  When they’d returned from Sam’s birthday dinner, John had been gone.  Dean suspected it would be a while before he saw him again.

He ate lunch at Castiel’s feet and opted not to read when Castiel went to his office to work.  He asked for permission to sit next to him, and when it was granted, he rested his head on Cas’ knee and closed his eyes.  Castiel ran his fingers through his hair continuously except when he needed his hand to type, but then it returned quickly.  He seemed to sense that Dean needed the comfort and the contact, but didn’t comment on it.

Dean woke up pressed against Castiel’s leg, his arm wrapped around it, a small drool spot on the khakis that clad that leg.  He sat up and wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his wrist and glanced up nervously to see if the man had noticed he’d messed up his pants.  However, Castiel was focused on his screen, and then he said, “I emailed you a copy about an hour ago.”  Dean realized Castiel’s voice is what had woken him up.

“Oh, I see it.  Got it.  Thanks,” said a female voice that Dean recognized as the woman, Charlie.

“Will you still have time to file the motion?”

“Yeah, plenty of time.  Oh!  Did you like _Orange is the New Black_?  Yeah, yeah?”

“I couldn’t get past the strip search.”

“Cas!  That’s like in the first half of the first episode!”

“I know, but it bothered me.  The thought of someone poking around in your rectum with a flashlight…”

Dean looked up at Cas.  Was this coming from the guy that had felched his submissive just yesterday?

“Alright fine.  Then you should watch _Star Trek_.”  Dean nodded his agreement.  “There’s nothing objectionable in that show.  Squeaky clean.”

“I don’t know…I’m not really a Sci-Fi guy.  I could barely make it through _Star Wars_.”

“I know and I still hold that against you.  But, these are like fun, light-hearted episodes that are easy to get through.”

“But there are so many.  And which version do you start with?”

“Well, the beginning, I guess.  Although Picard is way more awesome than Kirk.”

Dean let out an offended scoff.

“What was that?”

“Nothing,” Cas replied shooting Dean a look.

“You know what?  If it’ll get you to start watching it, just start with _Next Generation_ and skip the original series.  It’s not that great anyway.”

“Excuse me?” Dean asked, getting on his knees and turning to look at the computer screen.  A cute redhead blinked back at him in surprise.  “The original series is the best out of all of them because it is the original.  It was revolutionary and the first television show to break through racial barriers.  All current sci-fi and fantasy shows owe their success to _Star Trek_.”

Charlie was still staring at him agape, but as soon as he finished she rolled her eyes.  “You’re nuts.  _Buffy_ doesn’t owe anything to _Star Trek_.”

“ _Buffy_ doesn’t count as Sci-Fi or fantasy.”

“Why not?”

“Because.  It’s like in the same category as _Gossip Girl_.”

“Oh.  My.  God.  You probably think Greedo shot first, don’t you?”

“Oh come on, that’s just ridiculous.”

Charlie grinned at him, and he couldn’t help but smile back.  Castiel cleared his throat.  Dean went cold.  He actually felt terrified for a moment that he had ruined everything.  That Castiel was going to fire him.  That Castiel was going to hate him.

“Charlie, this is Dean.  Dean, this is my work colleague—”

“And best friend!  You always leave that part out.”

“And best friend, Charlie Bradbury.  Well, that’s her name now.  She used to be Celeste Middleton but after doing all that porn she had to change her name.”

“Shut up, Cas!  Don’t believe him, Dean.  So…who are you to Cas?  And why were you under the desk?  And how come he gets to see you in person, Cas?”

“Um…”  Dean was at a loss.

“Oh!  Is he your boyfriend?  Gosh, he’s pretty Cas.”

“Th-Thank you,” Castiel mumbled.

Dean glanced over his shoulder at him.  “Yes, good work, Cas.”

Castiel scowled at him.

“No, but seriously, why were you under the desk?  Were you giving him a BJ?” she snort-laughed.

“No!” Castiel burst out.  “No, he was not.”

“Not this time,” Dean said with a smirk.

Charlie’s face contorted to a mixture of disgust and pure amusement.  “Holy Hermione.”

“Dean,” Castiel sighed softly.

“So, if he’s giving you covert BJs then he’s clearly not some advanced hologram you’ve cooked up and he’s really there.  How come I can’t see you in person too?”

“If you want to have sex with me you can come over in person too.”

“No way!”

Castiel looked startled as he looked back and forth from the screen to Dean as both he and Charlie had made the vehement declaration.  Dean blushed and looked away.  Castiel put his hand in Dean’s hair.

“If you’ve nothing else, Charlie, we need to end the call.  And please, will you stop calling off schedule?”

“It was important!”

“Yes, I understand, but—”

“Alright fine.  It was nice meeting you, Dean.”

“You too.”

“Yeah, and Picard rules and Kirk drools!  Later bitches!”

The call ended and Dean growled at the screen.  Whoever this little—Dean squeaked as Castiel tightened his hand in his hair and jerked his head back.

“Go to the punishment room, Dean.”

Castiel released him and Dean got quickly to his feet and scampered away.  The nervousness was back.  Was Castiel pissed?  Had he only been controlling himself during the call for Charlie’s benefit?  Or was he just happy that Dean’s gaffe allowed them the opportunity for a spontaneous scene?

Dean paced around the pink room with his arms crossed over his chest.  Apparently Castiel had decided against redesigning the punishment room.  Maybe he never redesigned it.  Maybe part of the punishment was giving his subs a false sense of hope that they would one day get a break from the assault on their senses.

Castiel entered and slammed the door shut.  Dean jumped and then stood still and put his hands behind his back.  Cas walked right up to him with his own hands behind his back, smiled too sweetly, and then leaned forward and kissed him.

“You looked where you shouldn’t have looked,” Castiel said.  “Let the punishment fit the crime.”

Dean tilted his head, and then understood when Castiel brought his hands around and revealed a cloth blindfold.  He placed it over Dean’s eyes and then tied it securely behind his head.  It was a good blindfold too.  Not only did it completely cover his field of vision, but it blocked out most light.  He was almost in complete darkness.  Then Castiel stepped away from him and Dean turned his head in the direction he thought he had heard him move.  He waited and waited, and his body started to tremble slightly with anticipation.  Dean whipped his head to the left when he heard one of the drawers on the dresser open.  When had the little sneak gotten over there?

“Dean, I’m going to hand you something and I want you to tell me the shape.”

“O-okay.”

“Give me your hand.”

Dean moved one arm from behind his back and Castiel curled his fingers into Dean’s hand, placing something small, smooth, and three dimensional into his palm.  Dean fingered it and turned it around until he recognized the shape.

“A heart.”

“Good.  And this one?”

They went through six more shapes: triangle, square, star, circle, pentagon, and what Dean called a bar and Castiel called a cylinder.

“So you know all seven shapes?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.  I need you to do something for me, Dean.  Can you do something for me?”

“Yes.”

“Good.  I need these sorted.  Into seven piles each consisting of one shape.”

The sound of scores of beads hitting the tile floor and scattering broke the stillness in the room.  Then there was a plastic box in his hands.

“You can put them into this.  And, you won’t need these…”  Castiel snapped the waistband on his yoga pants.

Dean tucked the plastic box under one arm, pulled his pants down, and congratulated himself on not smacking Castiel upside the head with either.  How on earth had he gotten attached to a dom who got off on watching people clean and organize?  Dean heard Castiel drag something across the tile, and then he could tell the man took a seat.  He was just going to watch Dean while he picked up beads off the floor, butt nekkid, while blindfolded?  Whatever.  It was his money.  He could spend it however he liked.  Dean knelt down and immediately had to lift up his knee as two beads jabbed into it.  He brushed off the beads and then carefully felt around for clear spots to put his knees.  Then he commenced scooping up a handful of beads at a time and feeling them carefully to determine their shape.  He put them into the separators in the plastic box, concentrating on the order he was placing the shapes so that he didn’t get any mixed up.

Then he heard a soft sigh and the whisper of a zipper.  Dean sat up and turned his ear toward the sound.  Sure enough, he heard the rustle of fabric and could perfectly visualize Castiel pulling his cock out of his underwear.  That kinky son of a bitch.  Dean returned to his task, trying to focus on sorting the small beads and not getting distracted by the slick, sexy sounds of Castiel slowly jacking himself behind him.

Dean was convinced he was going to be on this tile floor searching for beads in corners and under the dresser until tomorrow morning, but he was pretty sure he hadn’t picked up more than a fourth of them before Castiel moved off his seat.  He grabbed Dean by the shoulder and turned him over.

“Lay down,” Castiel wheezed like some kind of creepy, pervy old man.

Dean laughed and sprawled out on the floor, ignoring the two beads that were digging into his butt.  Castiel sat in his lap—he seemed to be completely naked—and based on movement and sound alone, Dean could tell he was still jerking off.  Dean put his hands over his head and gave the barest hint of rolling his hips.  Castiel hummed in appreciation, and then a strong hand planted firmly on his chest.  Castiel’s breathing picked up and so did Dean’s.  His cock was hard and pressing between Castiel’s cheeks, enjoying the minor friction resulting from their small movements.

Castiel moaned and the sound of his moving hand sped up.  “I have no fucking discipline around you,” he bemoaned.

Dean put his hands in his hair and bucked up into Castiel’s heat.  “Well, don’t ask me for help; I told you I’m not a switch when it comes to the d/s stuff.”

Castiel’s hand moved from his chest and landed over his mouth.  “Stop talking.  Just rub harder.”

Dean moved his hands to Castiel’s hips and pulled him down as he bent his knees and pushed up.  Castiel groaned deep in the back of his throat and sped up his movements again.

“Dean…shit.  This is supposed to be a punishment.”

“Mmph.”

“What?” Castiel moved his hand.

“It is.  Can’t see you.”

“Oh.  Alright.  That’ll have to do then.”

Dean laughed and then Cas’ lips were on his.  Dean cupped Castiel’s jaw with one hand to hold him steady and then shifted one leg higher so that their rhythm became slightly uneven.  The change made them both moan into the kiss and Castiel’s knuckles brushed Dean’s stomach as he stroked himself.  They writhed a little bit more and then they were rocking through the waves of orgasm washing over them.

Castiel pulled the blindfold off and Dean blinked against the light, but only for a moment because he shut his eyes as Castiel kissed him.  They wrapped their arms around each other kissed sloppily until Dean leaned a little to his left and a bead dug into his shoulder.

“Ow, ow, ow, wait.  Fucking beads.”

Dean picked up the bead and held it in front of his face.  It was a blue heart.

“Why do you have these?”

“Solely for this purpose.”

“So you can jack off while watching your sub clean them up off the floor?”

“Well, usually just the latter part.  But, you were on all fours, and your truly _beautiful_ ass was up in the air.  You were arching your back on purpose.”

“I did _not_ arch my back.”

“It doesn’t matter.  It’s probably about four now, so you can head home.”

“Oh.”  Castiel was still sitting on him, so he didn’t attempt to get up.  “I can stay.  Just for a little bit.  To help you clean up the beads.”

“It’s alright.  I‘ll do it.  It’ll make me feel better.  Make me feel back in control.”

Dean raised his arm and brushed Castiel’s hair behind his ear.

“Feel better?  Do I not help?”

“Oh, you do,” Castiel said, turning his head to kiss Dean’s palm.  “But you also make me forget…”  He trailed off.

“Forget what?”

“That I’m supposed to be careful.  That I’m supposed to be afraid.”

“But isn’t that good?  Isn’t that why I’m here?”

“Hm.  But what happens when you leave?”

Dean's lips parted, and then he turned his head and looked away.  The kitten hanging onto her rope looked like she was about to slip off and fall to her death.

“Well…I’m not going anywhere anytime soon.  So, don’t worry about it.”

“I obviously could do this indefinitely, but how long were you expecting this arrangement would last?”

“I suppose that depends on whether Sam goes to an in-state school or out.”

“Is Sam your brother’s name?”

“Uh, yeah.  He’s fif—geez.  Just turned sixteen.  He’s finishing his sophomore year in another month.”

“How long have you been caring for him?”

Dean shifted and felt the beads digging into his butt again.  He became acutely aware that he was naked on a tile floor with come all over his chest.  He couldn’t talk about Sam here.

“It’s, uh, probably close to four.  I should go.”

“Right.  Right, of course.”

Castiel stood up and helped Dean to his feet.  Cas brushed off the beads that had stuck to Dean’s skin, and Dean chuckled as they hit the floor with small tinkling sounds.

“Can you see yourself out?  I don’t think I can leave the room like…this.”

“Sure, no problem.  I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yeah.  It should be here by tomorrow.”

“What should?”

Cas gave him that smug smile again.  “You’ll see.”

~~~

“This?” Dean asked incredulously.  “This is the special order?”

Dean held up a white Navy dress uniform.

“You promised me a strip tease.  Don’t strippers wear costumes?”

“Well, yeah, but…this is your fantasy?”

“A little bit.  And I want you to wear these,” he said as he held up a pink, lacy thong.  “I read online that male dancers wear G-strings.  Are those different from just plain thongs?”

“Uh…”  Dean stared at the pink monstrosity.  “Uh…”  He looked up at Cas.  “G-strings usually have less material, um, up the crack.”

“Ah.”  Castiel turned the thong around.  “So what is this?”

“That is a thong.”

“Should we wait for me to order a G-string?”

“No, no!  Let’s just…get this over with.”

Dean took the pink thing from Cas, pinching it unpleasantly between two fingers.  He walked into Cas’ closet with the uniform and started to shut the doors.

“I can’t watch you change?”

“And ruin the suspense?” Dean said dryly as he kicked the doors shut in his face.

Dean dropped the uniform onto the floor and held up the scrap of pink.  He sighed in annoyed defeat, and then slipped them on.  These were definitely women’s underwear as they did not have enough cuppage in the front.  He had to adjust himself very carefully to get it to stay more or less in.  Then he had to pull his butt cheeks apart to get the thong where it should be.  Ugh.  Thongs really weren’t supposed to go that far up a butt, but that’s the way he was used to wearing the things.

The uniform fit him perfectly, which had him a little concerned that Castiel might have taken his measurements in his sleep, but as he looked at himself in the full length mirror and put the hat on…he had to admit.  He looked fucking good.  He turned to the closed closet doors, put a hand on each knob, and then swung them open dramatically.  Castiel was sitting on the bed, just staring at the closet.  He looked blank for a moment, and then his jaw dropped.  Dean smirked.  Hell yeah.

He walked over to Cas and the man scrambled to his feet.  Without waiting for a comment or an order, he scooped Castiel up and started to carry him out of the room _An Officer and a Gentleman_ style.  Castiel let out some strange noises, and then he gave up and relaxed.  He took the hat off Dean’s head and put it on his own.

“Should one of us start singing?” Castiel asked.

“You don’t want to hear me sing.  Trust me.”

Dean carried Cas to the play room and he was thankful that it wasn’t too far because Castiel was solid with muscle and heavier than he looked.  Cas opened the door for him, and Dean carried him to the center and put him down on his feet.  Dean dragged the plain metal chair from the corner and put it in the center of the room as well.

“Have a seat.”

Castiel sat down and Dean took the hat off his head and tossed it aside.

“Do you have my phone on you?”

Castiel nodded and pulled the device out of his pants pocket, and then handed it to Dean.  He unlocked it and started sorting through the music on his phone.

“Now, normally strippers have tear-away clothing.  This uniform is going to be a little more awkward to get off.  So…no laughing.”

“I assure you, I won’t be laughing.”

“You say that now…”

Dean didn’t have a lot of “stripping” music on his phone, so he decided to go with a cliché and put on Warrant’s “Cherry Pie.”  Castiel started when the music burst out of the speakers.  Dean tried to repress his smile, but Cas looked like a priest in a whore house.  Dean circled around until his back was to Castiel.  He closed his eyes and told himself it was just another a job, and began to dance.  Not that he really had any true dancing skills, but he could stay on beat and he knew which sway of his hips made him look sexy and which just made him look goofy.

He turned around and found Cas watching him with rapt attention.  That gave him a little more confidence as he started to unbutton the top of the uniform.  The jacket came off pretty easily and he gave it the “stripper toss:” he swung it over his head a couple of times and then sent it flying across the room.  Castiel’s eyes widened.  Now he had to figure out what to do about the pants.  He undid the fly and danced a little bit, teasing Castiel with the flash of pink.  Then he turned around and bent over as he pushed the pants down to his ankles, giving Cas a clear, close up shot of that pink strip up his ass.

“Wow.”

Dean giggled and looked back.  “Did you just say, ‘wow?’”

“Are you allowed to mock your clients?” Castiel grumbled.

Dean chuckled again and stepped out of the pants, then he turned around and shook his junk in that stupid pink thong.  He knew he looked ridiculous and Crowley would have torn him a new one, but Castiel seemed enthralled.  Another thirty seconds of posturing and bending over, and the song came to end.  The playlist was set to shuffle and what came on next was a Massive Attack song.  He didn’t even know which one it was, but it was heavy and dark and would work for the next part.

“Would you like a lap dance, sir?”

Castiel swallowed and Dean could hear it over the music.  He nodded.  Dean smiled and sauntered over.  He bent over and ran his hands down Castiel’s chest, over his legs, and to his knees.  And then he pushed his knees apart so that they weren’t squeezed together tightly.

“There we go.  Let’s let that bad boy have a little breathing room, hmm?”

Castiel glanced down at the erection tenting his pants, and then back up.  He nodded again.  Dean turned around and slid down Cas’ torso until he was sitting in his lap.  He ground his ass down on to Cas’ groin and his upper body moved in a serpentine roll against him.  He continued this movement for a little while, until he heard the hitch in Castiel’s breathing he was looking for.  Then he stood up and turned around so he could sit back down on Castiel’s legs.  He rubbed his cock, which was bulging obscenely through the scrap of fabric still barely covering it, against the Cas’ hard member.  He put one arm around his neck and used his feet for leverage to swirl his hips around hard and repeatedly.  Castiel groaned and his hands flew to Dean’s hips.  Dean immediately got up and stepped back.  Castiel looked like someone had kicked his puppy.

“No touching,” Dean warned.

Castiel’s jaw dropped again, this time with disbelief.  Dean raised an eyebrow at him.  He closed his mouth and nodded and wrapped his hands around the sides of the chair.  Dean sat back down and started grinding again.  The music had a natural build to it and Dean followed its lead, biting his lip to keep himself from coming first.  That would be fucking embarrassing.  And a first for him (while stripping).  Fortunately all it took was Dean leaning in a little bit and moaning softly in his ear, and then Castiel was coming in his pants.  Dean grinned and rode him through it.  Then he sat back, his cock now having completely pulled free of the thong and was bobbing playfully between them.

“Ordinarily, this would be where we leave it.  But for you, sir, I think I’ll let you break a rule.”

Castiel fisted Dean and started pumping him quick and hard.  Dean actually hadn’t been prepared for the onslaught; he’d expected a little teasing, so he came in less than twenty strokes.  He tilted his head back and swiveled his hips as Cas continued to pull on his softening cock.

Dean breathed out slowly.  “That was good.”  He raised his head and opened his eyes.  Cas still looked a little shell-shocked.  “Did you enjoy it?”

He nodded dumbly.  The song faded out to silence.  Suddenly Taylor Swift started blaring out of his phone.  Dean startled and practically fell off Castiel’s lap as he scrambled for his phone.  He turned the music off and looked back at Cas.

“You never heard that.”

“Heard what?” Castiel asked, and Dean didn’t think he was making a joke.

“Never mind,” Dean said with a soft laugh and carefully stepped out of the soiled thong.  “So, what do you think of stripping now?  Is it worth breaking through all your neuroses so you can go outside and catch a real show?”

“I suppose that would depend on who was performing.”

“Hm.”

“Dean…”

“Yes?”

“Is that what you used to do?  Sit in men’s laps and let them get off on frottage?”

Dean pulled in on himself a bit and looked at the floor as he pretended to play with his phone.  “Yeah.  Pretty much.  Did a lot more at Sweet Things, you know.  Did you think I was some kind of virginal newb your brother found at the mall?”

“No, of course not.  I didn’t mean to imply that I’m upset that you have a sexual history.  I certainly have one.  I just meant…did you take this job because you wanted to?”

Dean finally looked up.  “What do you mean?”

“I mean, did you take the job because you wanted to do it, or because the money was too hard to turn down?”

Dean walked to the corner and picked up the jacket and started to fold it to give his hands something to do.

“Not gonna lie, Cas, the money was a factor, but you had to already know that.”

“No, Dean, I’m asking you if you only took this job because you needed money and not because you actually feel comfortable or were interested in engaging in this kind of long-term, very personal business arrangement.”

“I took this job for a lot of reasons, Cas.  But rest assured, I don’t regret it.  It is my first long–term gig as someone’s personal submissive, which is why I was a little apprehensive in the beginning, but…I enjoy coming to work.  I enjoy working for you.  And I enjoy working to make you come.”

Castiel took that in and then gave Dean a “that was corny” look.  Dean gave him a wink in return.

“Just as long as you want to be here,” Castiel said.  “And that you don’t _have_ to be here.”

“I’ve got options, and I’m opting to be here.  I know what you’re thinking.  People who do sex work…are desperate.”

“That’s not—”

“It’s okay, Cas.  It has a stigma to it.  I could make a decent living waiting tables or managing a retail store—if I lived by myself.  But, I’ve got some extra expenses.  So, I chose a job that gives a little extra for being willing to let people use me as a fantasy.”

Castiel was gnawing on his bottom lip and Dean wanted make him stop before he damaged it, but it wasn’t his place.

“Do you need a raise?”

“W-what?”

“I can pay you more.  If you need it.”

Dean shook his head.  “Nah.  We shouldn’t change the arrangement.  I mean, I agreed to this based on the salary you proposed.  If it wasn’t enough, I wouldn’t have taken it.  Although, in a year, maybe then we could talk about it.”

“In a year…”  Castiel said with a wistful smile.  Then his smile faded.  “After the first month…that’s usually when I request more blood work and a random drug test.”

Dean nodded.  Now that he knew Castiel better, the request didn’t seem like an insult anymore.

“Sure.  Point me at a cup.”

Cas shook his head.  “I don’t think I will though.”

Dean’s eyebrows rose.

“It’s partly because I trust you.  And partly because…I don’t want to know.  Because if anything is positive…I can’t…I don’t want you to leave so I would rather not know.”

“That’s awfully risky behavior, Castiel.”

He shook his head.  “I trust you.”

“Wouldn’t you like to have that trust validated?”

Castiel nodded.  “Yes, very much so.  But, I would rather live with that slight niggling worry than run any risk at all that I would have to send you away.  I’m not doing that.  If this arrangement ends, you’re going to have to do it.”

Dean stared at the man.  He wouldn’t look back at him.  He just fidgeted in the chair and looked like he’d just confessed to a jury that he was guilty but didn’t care.

“Maybe you should move my frame to a higher shelf then,” Dean said, trying to lighten Castiel’s mood.

Cas looked up.  “Oh, no, that’s not how it works.  Past subs get ranked.  Current subs stay on the third shelf.”

Dean shook his head in befuddled amusement.  “Alright.  Guess I should just be happy there’s only one frame on the third shelf.”

“Of course.  It’s in our arrangement.”

Dean nodded.  “Right.  Our arrangement.  So.  You want to put on some clean pants?”

“Oh.  Oh, yes.  This is…I’ve ruined more clothes with you than my last ten subs combined,” Castiel complained as he stood up.

“Taking that as a compliment, but how many subs have you had?”

“Ones who have actually signed the contract with me?  Twenty-three.”

“Holy shit.”

“Most of them didn’t last three months though.”

“Oh.”

“And there was one who didn’t sign a contract.”

“How did that happen?” Dean asked incredulously as they headed for the bathroom in Castiel’s bedroom.

“She was my girlfriend before…well, before.  And honestly, I’m still not sure which of us was the dom in that relationship.  Perhaps we were just a regular couple, who occasionally had really kinky sex.”

“Is that the lesbian?”

Cas chuckled.  “No, that was not the lesbian.”

Dean sucked in a surprised, dramatic breath.  “Charlie!  Charlie was your first kiss!”

Castiel blushed so hard that no amount of tanned skin was going to hide it.  “That’s none of your business.”

Dean laughed and tried to follow Castiel into his bathroom, but he shut the door in his face.

“Wh—come on, Cas.”  Dean tried the knob, but it was locked.  “Cas!  Castiel?”

~~~

Dean was about to call Gabriel the next day when Castiel didn’t open the door when he knocked.  There were two garbage bags in the hallway, and while Thursday was trash day, he never put it out until after Dean had left.  It took a full seven minutes of knocking on the door before Castiel answered.  And shit.  He was in those baggy sweatpants again, rubber gloves on his hands, protective glasses over his eyes, and a surgical nose and mouth mask.  Dean repressed his sigh.

“What happened?”

“Go bathe,” Castiel grunted and left him at the door.

Dean took off his shoes and stepped inside.  His nose wrinkled as he was hit with a powerful smell of disinfectant.  He collared himself, undressed, and headed for the bathroom, only glancing once at where Castiel was on his hands and knees in the kitchen scrubbing the floor.  He knew he’d be on his own for the bath, so he made sure he did a thorough job and took his time so that Castiel wouldn’t think he skimped on anything.  He forewent the yoga pants and walked straight back to the main room.  He stood behind Castiel with his hands behind his back.

“Sir, can I help?”

Castiel sat back on his haunches and sighed.  “You should put on some clothes and some protective equipment.”

“What am I protecting myself from?”

“There…there were insects in the fruit that was delivered yesterday evening.”

“Like…worms or cockroaches or something?”

“What?  N-no,” Castiel twitched and brushed an imagined critter off his arm.

Dean winced slightly as he realized he should never volunteer information.

“It was, um, those little tiny flies.  That buzz on fruit.”

“Fruit flies?”

“Yes, fruit flies.  There had to be at least six of them,” Castiel broke off with a scared sob and hunched forward.

The sound startled Dean into action.  He moved to Cas’ side and knelt down next to him.  He gathered the man into his arms and he weakly tried to push him away.

“I’m covered in chemicals.  Your skin—”

“Sh, Cas, come on.  It’s okay.  Did you get them all?  Do you want me to look?  Do you want me to search the other rooms?”

Castiel nodded, but allowed himself to be held in Dean’s arms.  Dean stayed crouched on the floor, ignoring his cramping muscles, for quite a while.  He refused to let go of Castiel until his tremors had faded.  When he was relatively calm, Dean led him to the living room and sat him down on a couch.

“Stay here.  I’m going to search the condo.”

Castiel nodded.

Dean spent three hours going over every inch of Castiel’s condo.  Then he spent an hour showing Cas every item of food he was using to make lunch with and let him inspect it.  There wasn’t much to work with.  Castiel had thrown away every single thing that had come in the order with the tainted fruit.  Even though the food had met his approval, Castiel barely picked at it as he sat miserably at the table.  Dean sat in his chair and ate as slowly as possible to give Cas more time to find his appetite.  He never did.  For the rest of the afternoon, Dean laid halfway in Castiel’s lap in the living room while he finished the rest of _Middlemarch_.  Castiel had a book too, but Dean didn’t think he was actually reading it.

After he finished the last page, he checked his phone where it lay on the coffee table.  It was almost time for him to leave, but he was apprehensive about leaving Castiel alone.

“So, this dude must have known movies were going to be invented,” Dean said, wincing as his voice sounded much too loud in the quiet that had persisted all afternoon.

“Why?” Castiel asked dully.

“Because of the scene between Dorothea and Will.  When they finally kiss, it’s in a dark room with lightning flashing outside.  It was very dramatic.  Would make a good movie scene.”

“Yes.  I liked that scene too.”

“I guess he was clairvoyant or something.”

“Who?”

“The author.”

“Oh.  She.  George Eliot was a woman.  She used a man’s penname so that publishers and readers would take her seriously.”

“Ah.  Makes sense.”

“Does that change your take on the novel?  Knowing it was written by a woman instead?”

“Hmm.  Not really.  Though Mary’s character makes more sense now.  I doubt a man in that time—hell, in this time—would be able to write a woman who knows her mind and sticks to her convictions without making her some kind of villain.”

“True.  Though, she does marry Fred in the end.”

“Only after he got his shit together.”

“Yes.  Dean, it’s time for you to leave.”

Dean pulled back from his comfy lounging spot.  Castiel’s diligent tracking of the time and non sequitur broaching of the subject would never not be jarring for him.  He leaned over Cas and turned his head by placing his knuckles under his chin.

“Can I kiss you?”

Castiel nodded.

Dean leaned forward and kissed a little softness back into Cas.  Then he pulled back and met his eyes.

“I can stay.”

Dean could see the conflict in his eyes.  “I…I think you should go though.  I think I’m just going to go to sleep.”

Dean picked up one of Castiel’s hands and examined the red, irritated, dried out skin.

“Were you scrubbing all night?”

Cas nodded.  Dean lowered his head and kissed his hand.

“You should get some sleep.  Rest easy, knowing the apartment is clean and completely bug free.”

Castiel nodded.

“And I’ll be here in the morning, okay?”

Castiel nodded.

Dean stood up and went about his routine for leaving.  He opened the door to the condo and glanced back at the living room.  All he could see was one socked foot hanging over the arm.  He didn’t want to leave Castiel like this, but he thought that altering his schedule might upset him more than help him.

~~~

Friday morning, Dean was prepared for anything to open the door.  Fortunately Castiel answered in a reasonable amount of time dressed in a baggy sweater, but he appeared to be mostly recovered from yesterday’s ordeal.  He was able to accompany Dean to the bath and wash him himself.  Then he was put in yoga pants and sat down on the fluffy white pillow while Castiel agonized over whether or not to switch grocery delivery companies.

“I sent them a letter,” Castiel stated like he’d ordered the execution of a traitorous spy.  “I let them know it was unacceptable to send tainted food.  But, they probably won’t process that before I need to place my next order so they won’t be extra cognizant of what they’re doing.”

“They probably won’t even after they read the letter, Cas.”

Castiel frowned at him.  “So, you think I should switch?”

“I think it doesn’t matter.  They’ll both be the same.  Sometimes bugs get mixed in with produce.  It is grown outdoors.”

“But it should be washed and cleaned before given to me.  You can’t deliver dirty food.”

“Yeah they do.  Why do you think we wash all the vegetables before we cook with them?  They’re still covered in dirt and stuff.”

“I don’t…they don’t deliver it straight from the farm.  That’s why I don’t order organic or from farmers markets.  I use the big commercial grocery stores for a reason.”

“Yeah, but…they don’t scrub the produce.  Plus, you have to know that stuff like that isn’t something you can shut yourself away from short of being in a hermetically sealed bubble.”

“Maybe I should do that.”

“Can’t have sex then.  Also, being in the bubble doesn’t do anything about the bacteria that live in your stomach and help you digest food.  Or the several species of mites and things that live in your eyebrows and will never go anywhere.”

Castiel stopped typing and turned an unhappy look on him, but Dean ignored the voice telling him to shut up and plowed on.

“And besides, even if they did wash the produce, it was still handled by human hands.”

“That’s why I wash it,” Castiel gritted out.

“But you order pre-packaged stuff.  Stuff that was made by humans and machines and chemicals.”

“Those things are prepared in clean environments.”

“Kind of.  You ever watched _How It’s Made_ on the Science channel?  People are lazy or make mistakes.  Everything you consume has the potential to be contaminated.  And, I mean, you _can’t_ wash cereal.”

“Are you trying to make me feel better, or drive me to hang myself in the play room?”

“I don’t know!” Dean burst out.  “ _Do_ I make you feel better?  At all?  Isn’t that why I’m here?  To make you feel more in control?  Do I do anything at all that helps you?”

Castiel looked away.  “Yes.  You do help.  More than you know.”

Dean fidgeted, watching Castiel and wondering if pushing him would help or make things worse.

“M-maybe…I could help even more…if…if I knew why you have these concerns.  If I could know about, before…”

“No.”  Castiel shook his head.  “No, no.  I’m not talking about that.”

“Okay.”

“I told you not to ask personal questions,” Castiel said, turning his head to look at him, his eyes flashing.

“I’m sorry.  I won’t—”

“It’s in the arrangement.  No personal questions.”  Castiel stood up abruptly and his chair rattled on the floor causing Dean to flinch away.  “Stand up.”

Dean got to his feet.

“Follow me.”

Castiel walked stiffly out of the room and Dean followed him meekly to the punishment room.

“Take off the pants.”

Dean took the pants off slowly and even folded them and placed them on the dresser.  He was stalling.  He glanced at the closed door, and then at Castiel who was removing the belt from his pants.  Dean swallowed and was grateful not only for the fact that his father had never beaten him in his drunken rages, but that he’d never been exposed to a beating by a belt before.  Because this right here—he had a feeling would trigger the fuck out of some people.

“We never specifically talked about a belt.  I’m asking for your consent,” Castiel said woodenly as he put the two ends in one hand.

Dean didn’t feel comfortable with Castiel’s demeanor, but he didn’t seem to be out of control.  He nodded his head.

“I consent.”

“Face the wall, get on your knees, and hold your hands in front of you.”

Dean obeyed.

“Don’t move.  Don’t make a sound.  If you feel you need the support, you may move only to brace yourself on the floor with your hands.  Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“What’s your safe word, Dean?”

Dean licked his lips and closed his eyes as he wondered again if this was a good idea.

“Sixty-seven.”

“Shall we begin?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

The first lash came immediately, startling him as it landed across his back.  A noise of surprised pain escaped him and he sucked his lips in, doing his best not to glance back at Castiel to see if he had heard him.  The next two lashes fell across his back, and Dean wasn’t sure if the force had lessened, or if he was just prepared for it.  Five more lashes traveled over his back.  Dean could tell that Castiel was being careful enough to hit him with only the flat of the belt.  A slight turn in either direction would have the edge biting into his skin, which would hurt a lot more and possibly break the skin.  Dean relaxed as he realized that Castiel was in control.  But he could tell that the man needed to feel like he wasn’t so that he could take it back.

Castiel hit him again and again, the blows traveling down to his hips and ass.  The man was careful to skip over the lower back, avoiding the kidneys.  He was still in control, but he wasn’t stopping.  Dean eventually did have to lean forward and put his hands on the floor.  Castiel’s blows came a little harder.  He could hear him grunt as he swung and he was breathing hard as he worked.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut as he felt his body start to protest the abuse.  He had floated in and out of a haze of—not pleasure, not exactly, but it felt good in all the ways it probably shouldn’t.  But now he’d reached a point where he couldn’t get back into that trance.  His back was too raw, his thighs had been hit a couple of times, probably on accident.  Dean knew he couldn’t take much more.  He started counting down the blows—he was going to have to safe word out in a few more seconds.

Ten, nine, eight.  Dean dug his nails into the tile.  Castiel hit him again with even more force than before.  Skip seven and six, five.  The next blow was even harder.  Four.  Castiel dragged in a deep breath and then made a pained noise as he struck again.  Three.  The next followed right on top of it.  Two.  Dean leaned onto his forearms and rested his head on them.  He waited, shivering, for the next blow, the last one he could take, and then he heard the belt hit the floor.  Castiel slumped to the floor just in his peripheral vision.  They both remained still except for their heaving chests.  Enough time passed that they were able to begin breathing evenly again, and Dean could feel the heat and pain radiating off his back.

Castiel got to his feet and approached Dean.  He helped him stand up very slowly and very carefully.  He walked him to the bedroom and let him settle onto the soft bed on his stomach.  He disappeared for a couple of minutes, and when he returned he was in nothing but boxers and carrying some supplies in his hands.  He crawled onto the bed and sat crossed-legged next to Dean’s side.  The first touch of the cold ointment onto his inflamed skin was both a relief and agony.  He alternated between tensing and relaxing as Castiel carefully applied the cream to each lash mark.

“I’m so sorry, Dean.”

“For what?” Dean asked drowsily.

“I came so close to breaking the skin.  It’s in our arrangement—”

“But you didn’t, right?”

“No.  The skin isn’t broken.  But you’re going to have welts for several days.”

“S’alright.”

“I think I pushed you too far.”

“I didn’t safe word out.”

“But would you have?”

Dean nodded.  “Yes.  I was actually about to, but you stopped.  Guess you knew my limit.”

Castiel made some sort of grunting disagreement, but didn’t make a verbal comment.  He just placed the end of a dropper to his lips.

“What’s that?” Dean asked, moving his head away.

“Liquid aspirin.  It’s going to swell, but I want to avoid you developing a fever.”

Dean moved back and opened his mouth.  Castiel squeezed the dropper and Dean made a face at the nasty grape flavor.

“Is that children’s aspirin?”

“No.  You can ask the pharmacy to flavor any medicine.”

“Hm.”

Dean closed his eyes and relaxed, trying not to move because then he would only feel a dull throb as opposed to pointed pain along specific welts.  Castiel rubbed the back of his a hand against Dean’s shoulder.

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

“Don’t be.  You needed that, but so did I.  It felt good to put myself in yours hands.  To trust you with my well-being.”  Dean turned his head enough so that he could look Cas in the eyes.  “That trust was rewarded.”

“Dean,” Castiel said softly, looking away, but his hand remained on Dean’s skin.

“But, uh, maybe we could take it easy for a little bit?”

“Of course,” Castiel replied, removing his hand.

“Hey, hey,” Dean grumbled.  “Come here.”

“Dean, I—”

“I’m about to fall asleep.  C’mere.”

Castiel lay down on his side next to Dean, but kept his body tucked up against himself.

“Aftercare is about comfort, right?”

“Yes.”

“So, comfort me.  Touch me.”

Castiel squirmed closer until they were touching down the length of their bodies.  Then he uncurled one arm and brushed his fingers against Dean’s cheek before settling it on the back of his neck, massaging it gently.

“Wake me up for lunch,” Dean said around a yawn, and then fell asleep.

~~~

With only a minimal amount of awkward conversation, Dean and Cas decided that after Dean’s shift ended Saturday morning, he should stay through to his evening hours so that Castiel could continue to apply salve to his back.  Sam had accepted the news with no fuss and told Dean that John hadn’t come home.

Dean wasn’t sure if it was the fact that Castiel hadn’t really hit him as hard as it had felt or the ointment he used was some kind of miracle drug, but by Sunday the swelling was completely gone and he had basically no pain.  Only a little tenderness, and red marks all over his back.  He had to make sure he put on a shirt before he left his room for any reason, even to pee in the middle of the night just in case Sam got up too.

Of course, the kid probably wouldn’t notice because he was so wrapped up with prom being a couple of weeks away.  Apparently kids were supposed to do stupid, elaborate shenanigans in order to ask their dates to prom.  Dean was only six years removed from high school, but he didn’t remember people making such a big deal out of prom itself let alone asking someone to go.  Sam was bound and determined to give Jess the most elaborate “promposal” (and seriously?  Shoot him now) of any girl at Huntsville High.  Dean had actually spent most of Sunday cutting out tiny heart confetti from construction paper and writing a tiny “SW + JM” on each individual one.  He’d bitched the whole time, of course, but Sam had taken it all because he was one of the few sixteen year olds on the planet who understood how to appreciate people and not take them for granted.

On Monday he was looking forward to getting back to a normal routine with Castiel, which of course meant that was exactly what he didn’t get.  Castiel treated him like glass for two days, and when he complained about it, he was finally allowed to give Cas a blowjob.  The fourth day he declared that he was perfectly fine, but if Castiel didn’t do something nasty or kinky to him he was going to take one of his dirty socks out of the footlocker and hide it somewhere in Cas’ condo.  Castiel finally relented and said they could resume their usual activities.  Tomorrow.

“Why tomorrow?” Dean groused and chomped on his sandwich like a petulant five year old.

“You’ll see,” was all Castiel would say.

~~~

Dean wondered how long it would take for Castiel to reveal his master plan for Friday.  The day started more or less as usual with Dean slipping on his collar, undressing, and getting a very thorough washing from Castiel.  He was left alone to dry off and brush his teeth.  When he was done, Castiel had returned and was holding a dark wood box in his hands.  Dean was curious for a moment, and then he looked up to Castiel’s eyes which were bright and excited.

“Is that…?”

Castiel opened the box and Dean looked down.  There, against that stupid white fur lining, was the collar that he and Cas had designed especially for him.  He raised a hand and lightly ran his fingertips over the supple leather and cold studs.  They actually didn’t look that bad.

“Do you want to put it on?”

Dean nodded eagerly.

“On your knees.”

Dean dropped down immediately, wincing slightly when his knees connected with the hard floor.  Castiel patted his shoulder.

“Easy, don’t hurt yourself.”

Dean didn’t respond to that and watched with tracking eyes as Castiel set the box on the vanity next to the box he had been using for the red collar.

“Take off that collar.”

Dean’s fingers fumbled a bit as he attempted to get the vinyl collar off.  Finally he managed and placed it reverently in its box.  He had enjoyed wearing it, and would continue to for baths, so even though he was excited for his new collar, he treated it carefully.  Then he faced Castiel, and the man held out the open collar to him.  He shook his head.

“No.  The first time, you put it on.”

Castiel nodded and shifted closer.  The lambskin was soft on his throat and the strap was just a little bit bigger than the red one, which would take some getting used to, but he liked how much of his neck it claimed.  Then Castiel buckled it into place, slipping two fingers underneath and sliding them around to the front to ensure it wasn’t too tight.  Dean shivered as he felt the weight of the new collar.  His collar.  The symbol that wanting this, that wanting Cas was okay.  He looked up and met Castiel’s lust-filled gaze with a heated one of his own.  A question hung in the air, and the answer was delivered in the form of a softly bitten lip and coy dip of the head.

Castiel was on him in a flash.  They crashed onto the tile in a tangle of limbs and lips.  Cas grabbed Dean’s shoulder and roughly shoved him onto his stomach.  Then he pulled his hips up and began working him open with nothing but his fingers and spit.  His other hand shoved Dean’s face down to the floor.  He pulled his hand away from Dean’s hole long enough to gather both of Dean’s wrists and pull them behind his back.  He held them crossed at the small of his back with one hand and then returned to prepping him.

“I’m ready, sir,” Dean said when he could feel the stretch he needed.

“It’s going to hurt.”

“I hope so.”

Castiel licked his palm and gave his dick a few strokes before lining up and pushing in.  It did hurt, though not nearly as much as he’d been expecting since Castiel’s saliva and copious precome were doing a good job of lubricating the head and shaft.  Not that it mattered because the pain just heightened the pleasure.  Dean groaned as he felt his dom slide deep inside of him.  Then Castiel put a hand to the back of his neck, fingers curling under the new collar.  His hips rolled in and out a few times to establish a good slide, and then he snapped forward into Dean’s body hard and fast, the fleshy smacking sounds echoing off the tiled walls.

It didn’t take long for either of them.  Being manhandled so easily into his current position, being held immobile, being simply used for Castiel’s pleasure—it hit buttons Dean didn’t even know he had.  He came untouched so quickly he wondered why it had ever taken him so long to do it the first time.  Castiel released his wrists and neck so that he could hold his hips still as he emptied into him.  He grunted softly and gave him another couple shallow fucks, and then he went still.  They panted for a few moments, and then Castiel pulled out very, very slowly.  Dean uncurled himself gingerly and lay out on the floor, enjoying the heated tiles on his muscles.

“We should do that more often,” Dean said with a smile on his face, his head nestled on his folded arms.

“Do what?”

“Have sex.”

Castiel let out a small laugh.  “We have sex all the time.”

“Well, we do hand jobs and blowjobs and frottage and you shove toys up there all the time, but I can count on one hand the number of times _you’ve_ actually fucked me.  You should do it more often.”

“Perhaps we should amend section four to reflect penetration being one of your kinks.”

“It’s not a kink,” Dean mumbled.

“Well, if you don’t want to put it in…”

“Put it in.  If that’s the only way I can get _you_ to put it in, then by all means put it in the contract.”

Castiel chuckled.  “Okay.  We’ll add it.  After all, today is your day.  Do you want—”

“Yes.”

“Eager,” Castiel said and patted his butt.  “Okay.  I’ll see what I can come up with.”

What Castiel came up with was Dean trussed up in a spreader bar for the first time with his wrists cuffed to his ankles with just enough give that he could still lay on his back.  He was blindfolded, gagged with one of Castiel’s ties, and for the first time feeling a wild sense of frustration at being completely helpless, which only served to make his whole body feel like he was riding that cresting wave of orgasm that was kind of like he was coming and yet not at the same time as Castiel pounded into his ass with a stamina that made Dean wonder if he ran marathons (on his treadmill).  It had been hours, he was positive.  Or at least one hour he was certain.  He’d already come three times which was why he was no longer certain of the difference between coming and not coming.  As far as he could tell, Cas hadn’t come once.  It wasn’t fucking possible.  Yeah they’d had a protein heavy meal for dinner, but this was fucking insane.

Without any warning whatsoever, Castiel stopped moving.  Dean raged against the gag, but Cas slapped his thigh.

“Hush.”

He went quiet.  Then he heard it: Sam’s ringtone.  Dean moved on instinct and got exactly half a centimeter before everything was pulled tight.  He moaned and dropped his head back.

“I’ll get it,” Cas said and pulled out.

Dean was trying to tell Cas he shouldn’t, but his aching hole gaped with the absence.  He knew he needed to answer the phone as soon as possible.  Sam knew not to call while he was at work, so something must be wrong.  But, he couldn’t answer like this.  The gag was pulled out of his mouth and something placed against his ear.

“I’m pushing the answer button now,” Cas said.

“Don’t—Sam!  Hi!”

Castiel pulled the blindfold off and his eyes adjusted almost immediately to the dim pink light.

“Hey, Dean, uh, sorry to—why are you breathing so hard?  It’s right in my ear.  Gross.”

“Sorry.”  Dean took in a depth breath, and then let it out slowly.  He sounded marginally better.  “My phone was in another room.  I had to run to get it.”

“How’d you hear it then?”

 _Nosy kid with too much common sense._   “Someone told me.  You need something?”

His right wrist was released from the cuff and he was able to raise his hand and take over holding the phone.  He couldn’t believe he was talking to Sam while he was in bondage gear and covered in a shit ton of his own come.

“Yeah…so, I went out with some friends…”

“Yeah…you said you guys were going to the movies.”

“We did.”

His other wrist was released and he got a good look at Cas for the first time in a couple of hours.

 _You cheat!_ he mouthed at him.

Castiel shrugged.  He was wearing a cock ring.  No wonder he hadn’t come.

“And?” Dean asked, getting back on track.

“And…then we went to the reservoir…”

Dean cursed.  “Is someone arrested or did the condom break?”

“What?!  Dean!  No!”

He smiled at Sam’s squeaking as Castiel released his ankles from the spreader bar.  Cas stretched out his legs and began giving him a foot massage, which…felt too good for him to be bothered by it being weird.

“So, what’s up?  I am working here.”

Castiel snorted and Dean shoved him with his foot.

“Our ride has been drinking.  And Jess and I are ready to go, but we don’t feel comfortable getting in the car with him.”

Dean exhaled in relief.  “Is that all?”

“Is that all?  That’s a big deal!”

“No, I know, it is.  I just mean, you guys weren’t in a car accident or stranded somewhere dangerous alone.”

“No, we’re at the reservoir still, but…we need a ride home and Jess can’t call her parents because they would kill her.”

“Have either of you been drinking?”

“No.”

“Can you drive your friend’s car and take him home?”

“Well, he’s not really a _friend_ friend.  And he doesn’t want to leave yet and I don’t want to pick a fight with him.”

Dean sighed.  “Okay.  I’ll come get you.”

“Thanks, Dean.  I’m so sorry about this.  I just didn’t think it was safe—”

“Sam.  Never apologize to me for calling me when you need help.  I will always be there for you, okay?”

“Okay.”

“Alright.  I’ll be there in like twenty—well, thirty minutes.  Meet me at the road next to the service building.”

“Okay, thanks.”

Dean hung up and stared at the ceiling.  Then he glanced down to his feet where Castiel still sat.

“So, you have to go?”

“Yeah.  Brother needs me.  I should be back in an hour or so.”

“It’s okay.  You should just go home with your brother.  I’ll see you tomorrow afternoon.”

“O-okay.  If you’re sure.”

“Yes, I’m sure.  Take care of your family.”  He sighed and looked at his crotch.  “And I’ll take care of myself.”

“Cas, the reservoir is like fifteen minutes from here.  Why do you think I told him thirty minutes?  Finish up.”

Cas grinned and moved forward in a flash.  He kissed Dean, somewhat distractedly as he struggled to get the cock ring off, and then he easily slipped back inside.  It didn’t take more than a few enthusiastic thrusts before his hips were jerking and Dean could feel his come spilling inside him.  He rubbed a hand up and down Cas’ sweaty back.

“Guess I will be there in fifteen minutes.”

“Shut up.  You still have to shower.”

Dean chuckled and tilted his chin up to kiss him.  “Join me?”

“You’ll be late.”

Dean was only five minutes late, and it was totally worth it.  He saw his floppy-haired brother sitting on the concrete barrier blocking the road down to the reservoir and attempting (somewhat poorly) to make out with a blonde girl.  He grinned and let the car roll up very slowly.  It was a gravel road and the car kind of rattled, so the kids must be really into it if they didn’t hear his approach.  He smashed his hand on the horn several times and the teens jumped apart with shouts.  Dean’s laughter immediately died.

Jess.  Was Jessica from across the hall Moore.

“Shit.”

Dean stayed in the car and waited for Sam and Jess to get in the backseat.  Fortunately the dome light had died on the Dart years ago, so his face was hidden in darkness.

“You two okay?” Dean asked.

“Yeah, fine,” Sam replied.

“Thank you so much for picking us up,” Jess said.

“No problem.  Uh…where to?” he asked, hoping she wouldn’t say, “Don’t you already know?”

Jess gave him directions to Castiel’s place in between talking with Sam about some teenage bullcrap.  He couldn’t pay attention.  He was too nervous she would recognize him if he said anything or did anything.  Or breathed.  She did manage to show him a quicker, better way to get to Cas’ building.

When they arrived Sam and Jess said goodbye, and then Jess got out of the car.  Dean turned on his brother.

“Dude.  Get out and walk her to the door!”

“Oh!”

Sam scrambled to get out and walked Jess up to the building door and Dean rolled his eyes.  How had he ever gotten this girl to think he wasn’t a total loser?  He thought he deserved the Best Big Brother of the Year Award as he sat in the car for fifteen minutes and didn’t honk his horn once.  When Sam returned and got in the passenger seat, he was smiling goofily.

“You giant sap.”

“Yeah, I’m okay with that,” Sam replied.

Dean rolled his eyes and drove them home.  When they got to the apartment, it wasn’t quite midnight yet.  Dean yawned and made a face as he realized he would be sleeping on his cheap, thin mattress rather than the giant fluffy comfort of Cas’ bed.  Friday nights were the nights he looked forward to getting a good night’s sleep.  Even if he got it because he was so worn out from kinky sex that he basically passed out next to the man who had put him in that state.

“Oh, crap.”

“What?” Dean asked, turning back to Sam in alarm.

“The end table fell over and the lamp broke.”

“Oh.”  Dean walked around the couch and examined the table.  He’d noticed the leg had been split after John’s tirade, but he thought it would hold.

“You think Dad did it?” Sam asked bitterly.

“I don’t think Dad’s been here in a few days.  Look here, the leg was cracked.  It just gave out.”

“How did it get cracked?” Sam asked, and he sounded a bit accusatory.

“Old.  Cheap.  I can swing by Big Lots tomorrow and get us a new table and lamp.”

“What about the picture frame that had us in it when we were at Bobby’s?” Sam asked.  “Or that stupid popsicle stick house I made at camp when I was ten?  Did you think I wouldn’t notice stuff just disappeared?  What did he do?”

Dean sighed and sat down on the floor.  “He was sad about something, Sam.”

“He was sad.  So he trashed our stuff.  Did he hurt you?  Were those marks on your neck from him?”

“No, no.  Trust me.  I enjoyed getting those marks.”

Sam made a face and Dean gave him lewd smile, grateful he could distract Sam with something.  Sam plopped down on the floor facing him.

“Is this really our life, Dean?  Cleaning up and covering up for that man?”

Dean stared at his little brother, his chest squeezed tight, and when he tried to speak his voice cracked.  He dropped his head and took a few deep breaths.  When he looked up, Sam still looked calm, but silent tears were streaming down his face.

“Sam,” Dean started, embarrassed by the waver in his voice.  “You’re gonna get out.  You have to get out.  You study your ass off and you pick any fucking school you want—as far away as you want.  Hell, in another country if you have to.  We’ll be able to afford it.  We’ll get loans.  We’ll make it work.  But you’re going to get out of here.  And you’re not going to look back.  Promise me you’ll do that.”

Sam nodded.  “I promise.  On one condition.”

Dean swiped at his eyes with the back of his hand.  “What?”

“You’re coming with me.”

Dean laughed weakly.  “Sure, kiddo.”


	10. Chapter 10

Dean woke up Saturday morning a little grumpy that he was alone in bed and wouldn’t have the chance to have someone hand feed him sausage links.  He was grumpier about the fact that he wanted that without his collar on because then it was just weird.  Sam slept through breakfast and he didn’t bother to wake him up because he was perfectly happy with a bowl of cereal and no dishes to clean up.

Feeling antsy he left the kid a note and decided to run some errands.  He didn’t know what needed to be done, but he’d find something.  As he walked through an Ace Hardware, he texted Victor to see if there was a pickup game planned for the weekend.  He got a reply that the game had been on Thursday and that he shouldn’t text people at an ungodly hour.  It was 11:30am.  But he remembered the days when a weekday pickup game wouldn’t interfere with work and he was still at the beginning of his shift at 11:30pm.

Feeling desperate for something to do, Dean stopped by Recoulté.  It opened at 11:00am for lunch, but even on a Saturday it shouldn’t be too busy.  Fortunately Benny was working the bar, so Dean didn’t have to get a table.  He hopped up onto one of the comfortable stools and looked at the glittering wall of spirits in front of him.  He wondered how Benny could stand to tend bar with his past.

“Hey, brother, what brings you to this shithole?”

Two women looked up from their Bloody Mary cocktails and gave him scandalized looks.  Benny ignored them.

“Bored, really.  Looking for a friend.”

“Well, you found one.  Unless ‘looking for a friend’ is a euphemism for something.”

“No, no.  Trust me.  It’s not.  Can I get an iced tea and a plate of hot wings?”

“’Course.”  Benny entered his order into the computer, but kept side-eyeing him.

“What?”

“I don’t overstep my bounds.  Your business is your own unless you invite me in.”

“Invite you?  Like a vampire?”

“Well, I am from Louisiana.”

Dean rolled his eyes.  “Fine, fine.  I invite you in.  What is your wise advice?”

“You need someone.”

“Sex isn’t the answer to everything.  I can’t believe I just said that.”

“Don’t try to play the cavalier stud with me, Dean.  I know you better than that.”

Dean shrugged him off and gave a passing waitress a wink just to be contrary.

“Also, I didn’t say you need _some_ , I said you need some _one_.  A person to be there for you for a change.  Someone who will listen to your problems and at least give you comfort if she can’t help.”

“Sounds like you’re recommending a shrink.”

Benny laughed and waved off a patron at the far end of the bar.  The man looked surprised to be rebuffed, and then just sat awkwardly on his stool.

“Maybe that can be a last resort.  But sometimes a woman’s perspective is what a man needs.”

“Hmm.  You know any?” Dean asked sarcastically, knowing for a fact Benny was single.

“Actually, I do.  Her name is Cassie and she might be your soul mate.”

“Her name is what now?”

Benny sauntered over to the other customer and finally took his order.  Then he disappeared to the kitchen and returned with Dean’s hot wings and drink.

“We’re out of celery.”

“Don’t like it anyway.”

“So, about Cassie.  She used live down in Missouri and we met in school at UNO.  She moved back home for a while, but decided to come back here.”

“Why would anyone come _back_ to Nebraska?”

“Why are you here?”

“Because I haven’t left yet.”

Benny narrowed his eyes slightly, but pressed on.  “She’s smart, maybe too smart for you, but has an attitude that can match yours.  She’s beautiful, of course.  Mixed race, great hair.”

“Great hair?  Benny, do _you_ want to date her?”

“She turned me down,” he said with a grin.

“Great.  You’re setting me up with your castoffs.”

“I am not.  I’m her castoff.”

“Thanks, man, but not interested.”

“Not taking no for an answer, brother.  You’ve been mopey almost as long as I’ve known you, and I’ve never seen you do more than one night stands.  Maybe that ought to tell you something.  You ought to try dating.”

“Yeah, it’s just, now’s not a good time with the new job and all…”

“You’ve had that job almost two months now.  Just meet her, Dean.  Really casual.  A lunch date, not a dinner date.”

“I…”

“Tomorrow.  I’ll text you the details when she says yes.”

“Have you not even told her about your great matchmaking services yet?” Dean asked moodily.

Benny just gave him a smile and moved on to serve another customer.  Dean picked up a hot wing and tore into it fiercely.  Then he relaxed a little.  Damn.  This place did make some good hot wings.

~~~

Dean looked up again and this time didn’t hold back his sigh as he saw that the stacks and stacks of files around them definitely weren’t dwindling.  They were in Castiel’s office and he was wearing his yoga pants and the lightweight shirt Cas favored him in when he had to wear clothes.  The fact that he was fully clothed meant that Castiel actually wanted him to work and not just be eye candy.

“I’m starting think you requested these Saturday afternoon hours because you needed a housemaid.”

“I can buy you a maid uniform if you think you need one,” Cas said, not looking up from his complicated filing system.

Dean quietly repeated his comment while making faces and exaggerating his way of speaking.  He double checked that his last pile was in alphabetical order and set it aside.  He picked up the next stack and held it in his lap.  He played with the edges of the files, letting them pull against his fingers tips with a sound like a shuffled deck of cards.  Castiel looked up.  He stopped immediately.  Castiel returned to his work.

“So, uh, you wanna hear something funny?”

“Is it an improvement of your Monopoly joke?”

“My mo—whatever, that was funny.  But this isn’t a joke.  I was hanging out with my friend Benny yesterday—”

“Is he a stripper?”

“No.  He works at Recoulté.”

“Ah.  I’ve never been there.  They didn’t open until after…well, after.”

“It’s alright.  A little pretentious and slightly overpriced, but the hot wings are good.”

“Hot wings?  Isn’t it a four star restaurant?”

“Yes.”

“So, why are they serving hot wings?”

“Are you implying hot wings are low brow?”

“Yes.”

Dean opened his mouth and then closed it.  Alright then.

“Anyway, that’s not important.  I was talking with Benny—”

“How do you know him?”

“We met in a freshman seminar at UNO.”

Cas raised his head.  “You went to college?  Gabriel said you hadn’t.”

“Oh, well…”

Dean flushed.  He’d never been embarrassed about his education, or lack thereof, but Castiel could read in seven different languages and had two advanced degrees.  Then again, he also couldn’t deal with a fruit fly in his apartment.

“I went for one year.  But, circumstances made me drop out.”

“Have you thought about going back?”

“I have to get my brother through school first.  Then maybe I’ll worry about me.”

Castiel chewed on his lower lip and Dean could see the wheels turning in his head.  He hoped he didn’t say anything stupid.  Finally he looked back down at his work.

“So, what did Benny say that was funny?”

Dean let out a small sigh of relief that Castiel hadn’t decided to push further on that topic.  “He didn’t say something funny exactly, but he wants to set me up on a date.”

“With…?”

“I don’t know.  Some girl he knows.”

“So, the person is not what is funny?  What’s funny?”

“Um.  Just that he wants me to go on a date.  I mean, I told him I can’t, but I can’t tell him why so it’s a little awkward trying to—”

“Why can’t you go on a date?”

Dean scratched is ear, a little confused.  “Uh, because of our arrangement?”

“Our arrangement precludes you from engaging in sexual activity with another person.  You can go on a date if you want to.”

_Say what the fuck now?_

“Um.  What?”

Castiel still kept his eyes down.  “I see no reason why you shouldn’t go on this date.  Our arrangement shouldn’t inhibit you from living your normal life—to a point, of course.  You never know: this girl could be the love of your life.  Your job shouldn’t prevent you from finding that out.”

Dean sat still, waves of uneasiness making him feel a little sick.  He didn’t know why he felt like crap, what Castiel said made sense, but…

“Just don’t have sex with her, and whatever else you two may do will have no bearing on our arrangement.”

Dean worked his jaw back and forth to try to dispel some of his anger because he wasn’t entirely sure why he was angry.  Sure Cas was being a little dismissive, but that wasn’t outside of his nature.  They had both acknowledged that they could feel intimacy within their business arrangement, but it was still business and their personal lives were quite separate.  Hell, keeping their personal lives separate wasn’t just something Castiel requested, Dean wanted it too.  Going on a date was his personal life—Castiel really should have no say in it.  He should be happy the man wasn’t trying to control every aspect of his life.  He should be happy, but his heart still thudded painfully in his chest.

His phone dinged beside him and Dean put the stack of files down and picked it up.  There was a text from Benny.

“I’m going to go pee,” Dean said, standing up.

“You don’t need to announce it,” Cas said blithely.

Dean walked out of the room and read Benny’s text on the way to Cas’ bedroom.

“Cassie wants to meet.  Tmw 1pm Cousin Oliver’s.”

Dean made a face.  Cousin Oliver’s?  That café sucked.  He sighed and texted back that he would be there.  After all, Cas _wanted_ him to go.  He grumbled as he tossed his phone onto the bed so his hands were free to take a leak.  As if Sundays didn’t suck enough, now this.

~~~

Dean walked into the café dressed in jeans, a black T-shirt, and a green over shirt.  He wasn’t particularly worried about dressing to impress.  Either she liked him for who he was or this dating thing was bullshit.  He never understood dressing up and going to fancy restaurants for the first few dates.  That’s not what most people did once they got to know each other, so why did they try to get to know each other while being uncomfortable?  Made no sense.

He also didn’t feel like dressing up because he woke up feeling like crap.  It wasn’t sub-drop—because he didn’t get sub-drop—but it _was_ related to the fact that he let some asshole pay him to do kinky shit and then didn’t give a single fuck if he dated every girl in Nebraska.  Maybe he _should_ date every girl in Nebraska.  He bet Cas wouldn’t still be so blasé about it.

The café wasn’t crowded, so he easily deduced that the pretty girl with mocha skin and dark curly hair sitting by herself in a secluded corner must be Cassie.  He sauntered over using his best swagger (okay, so maybe a little showmanship wasn’t a bad thing) and grinned at her when she looked up.

“Cassie?”

“Dean,” she said giving him a smile and a once over.  “Please sit down.”

Dean sat down across from her and they stared at each other unflinchingly for several moments.  Dean liked her.  Definitely not a wallflower.

“So, uh, Benny says you met him at school.”

“Yeah, in journalism class.”

Dean snorted.  “Benny took a class on journalism?”

“Is there a problem with journalism?” Cassie asked, a slight edge to her tone.

“No, I’m just having a hard time picturing Benny doing it.  Although, it’s kind of a dying art, isn’t it?  All the news nowadays is crowd sourced.”

“And you don’t think that’s a tragedy?”

“A tragedy?  No, sweetheart.  A tragedy is when a family is ripped apart by death.  People using holograms to report on what the Kardashians are up to is gossip and wasted technology.”

“And you don’t think, that if a family was ripped apart by death, that journalism wouldn’t play a role in that?  That the integrity of the people reporting the information wouldn’t have any influence on the message?”

Dean shrugged.  “Facts are facts.”

“Okay.  So, the headline ‘Man killed in car crash,’ is factual, and that’s good enough?  That’s what the papers reported when my father died.  What they failed to mention is that he was a black man run off the road by a group of white men hurling racial slurs while they did it.  It’s almost like two completely separate stories, isn’t it?”

Dean pulled his bottom lip back as he recognized his error.  Well, they’d already delved into dead parent stories.  Excellent first date.

“Um, sorry.  About your dad.  And that it was swept under the rug.”

“Yeah, well, I’m used to white men being oblivious.”

Dean rolled his eyes.  She may not be wrong, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be annoyed by the generalization.  He sat back in his chair.

“Well, this is going great,” he said.  “Haven’t even gotten our drinks yet and already we’re hitting the taboo subjects.  What should be next?  Politics or religion?”

Cassie tried to fight a smile.  “I don’t know.  It’s kind of nice to skip the small talk for once.  Of course, that may result in the date ending before dessert.”

“Not for me.  I’m not leaving here without a slice of pie.  It’s the only thing here that doesn’t taste like feet.”

Dean looked up as the waitress arrived and sent him the stink eye.

“Can I get you something?” she asked.  “We have a nice corn chowder that we stew with gym socks for a little extra kick.”

Dean slumped down in his seat.  “That sounds…good.  And a Coke.”

“And for you miss?”

“I’ll have the grilled cheese sandwich with tomatoes and water.”

“Okay.  Coming right up.”

The waitress walked away and Dean nodded his head.

“She’s gonna spit in my soup isn’t she?”

“No, not the soup.  Probably your pie.”

Dean laughed softly and rubbed his forehead with his hand.  “Great.”

“Dean, are you okay?”

“What?  Yes.  Sorry.  I just…you ever have those mornings when you wake up and…”

Dean had no idea how to finish his sentence.  Cassie smiled and played with her napkin.

“Yeah, I think I know what you mean.  We could always reschedule.”

“Nah, we should just get this over with.”

Cassie stiffened.  “Get this over with?  Dean, why did you agree to come on this date if you didn’t want to?”

“Because he told me to,” Dean grumbled.

“Who?  Benny?  Please don’t waste my time because of your need to always please your friends.  I can’t stand a man who has to live by some kind of ‘Bro Code.’”

“What?  It’s not a bro code.  He just wanted to help me out.”

“Help you out with what?  You’re very attractive, Dean, and you know it.  If you needed to get laid, this isn’t the way to do it.”

“I’m not trying to get laid.  That was the point.  He thinks I need a relationship.”

“And you don’t?  So, again, why are you here?”

“I don’t think a relationship would be a bad idea…I just…um…”

“Oh,” Cassie said her demeanor relaxing.

Dean was confused by her implied understanding of the situation because Dean was still adrift in a dinghy in the fucking Pacific.  He couldn’t find out immediately because the waitress arrived with their food.  He looked up at her when she set the bowl of chowder in front of him.

“Smells good,” he offered weakly.

She gave him a mild glare, which he returned with a smile he knew to always work on grandmothers and principals.  The waitress tried to fight it, but then she giggled and left.  He looked at Cassie and she had an eyebrow arched at him.

“Sorry.  I don’t like people being angry with me.”

“You don’t like people with vaginas being angry with you.”

“Whatever.”  Dean took a bite of the corn chowder.  “Ugh.  Feet.”

Cassie chuckled and took a bite of her sandwich, the melty cheese trailing back in a gooey mess of deliciousness.  He should have ordered that.

“So, why did you suddenly seem like you understood all the secrets of the universe when I failed to answer a question in coherent English?”

Cassie smiled and took a sip of her water.  “Because I understand the situation now.  Benny wants to set you up and you can’t give him a good reason why not because you either can’t tell him who you’re already seeing, or already have somebody you like but are too scared to make a move on her.”

That…was kind of on the right track.

“Well, that’s not it exactly, but…”

“Oh, I think it is.  And it’s definitely the latter.”

“What?!  No, it’s not.  It’s the former.  I’m seeing somebody.”

“Casually.”

“Believe me, there’s nothing casual about it.”

“I mean that whoever you’re seeing is more like a…well, not to be too crass, but, a fuck buddy.  And you want her to be a girlfriend instead.”

“No.  No, no.  You’re way off.”

“Am I?”

“Yes.”

“Mm-hmm.”  Cassie put her sandwich down, folded her arms on the table, and leaned forward.  “Dean, I want you to be honest with me or I’m going to tell Benny you were a jerk and that he should defend my honor and beat you up.”

“Would he believe that _you_ actually needed help defending your honor?”

Cassie smiled happily at that.  “Good point.  You’re more perceptive than I thought.  It’s a shame you’re taken.”

“I’m not taken—”

“Ah!  Be honest.  This person you’re ‘not seeing’ but it’s totally ‘not casual,’ when you think about her, what’s the most prominent feeling?  You see her too much, the right amount, or not enough?”

“Uh…it’s a lot more complicated than that.”

“If you say so.  Just, don’t be one of those romantic comedy clichés, you know?  Acting like you don’t think you’re in love with the girl, and then realizing it at the last moment and chasing after her through the airport to catch her before she flies away for that job in Europe.”

Dean laughed.  “Why is it always Europe?”

“I don’t know.”

“Well, I definitely don’t have to worry about the last part.  There’s no way he’s flying anywhere.”

Cassie smiled, and then paused as she lifted her water.  She set it back down.

“He?”

“Oh.  Uh, yeah.  But this isn’t some cover for Benny!  Seeing you.  I do like women.  Too.”

“Okay.  Is that part of the problem?  You can’t admit you’re love with him because then you’d have to admit you’re in love with a man?  Like, it’s one thing to a fuck a guy, but to love him is just weird?”

Dean stared at her, and then shook himself.  “Um.  No?”

“Okay.”  She took a sip of her water with a smug smile on her face.

Dean made a face and ate some more of his feet soup.

~~~

Monday morning, Dean stood still next to the footlocker, holding the red vinyl collar in his hand.  Something felt wrong about putting it on.  He wondered if it was because he wanted _his_ collar.  But, he wasn’t sure he could put that one on either.  What the fuck was his problem?  Cas was waiting for him in the bathroom; he needed to get moving.  But he couldn’t put the collar on.

“Dean?”

Dean looked up and saw Castiel standing in the hallway doorway.  His eyes went to the collar in Dean’s hand.  He walked into the room and indicated the couches.

“Do we need to talk?”

Dean shrugged.

Castiel walked over to the couch.  “Let’s talk.”

Dean closed the footlocker and walked over to the couch, still holding the collar in his hand.  He sat down on the opposite end from Cas, pulling one leg up so that he could turn to face him.

“Did something happen yesterday?  Or, Saturday?  You seemed off when you left Saturday evening.”

Dean fidgeted with the collar, keeping his eyes on it.

“I went on a date yesterday.”

“Oh?”

Dean looked up.  Castiel’s voice had sounded strained, but his face was impassive.  Dean returned his attention to the collar.

“Yeah.  Like you said I should do.  It was kind of a disaster.  She figured out pretty easily I didn’t really want to be there.”

“Why didn’t you want to be there?”

“Because.  This is…what we’re doing…business arrangement or not, I’m…”  Dean stopped and exhaled heavily.  Fuck, this was embarrassing.  “I’m _emotionally invested_ ,” he said the words with dismissive derision.  “So, being with someone else, just isn’t an option for me at the moment.  And I’m okay with that.  I’m really okay with what we have being regimented and controlled.  It makes things easier.”

“I see.  But, why don’t you want to put the collar on?  I thought maybe you’d decided you needed to end the arrangement because you wanted to see this other person again.”

“No, nothing like that.  I…”  Dean turned the collar over and over in his hand.  “I think I can’t put it on because…well, when you told me on Saturday I should go on the date…it felt wrong.  Like, you, my dom, were telling me that I wasn’t wanted.  Or something.  Like, the one thing we have is this mutual desire to engage in this rela—arrangement.  And you were okay with me being with someone else.  I guess, I feel like the trust we had was broken.”

Castiel sucked in a sharp breath.  “I had no idea you took it that personally.”

“How else could I possibly take it?  You told me to go off and be with someone else.  While I was wearing my collar.  Your collar.  I was yours, and you didn’t want me.”

Castiel moved and was in Dean’s space in a heartbeat.  He took Dean’s hands in his and tried to make eye contact, but Dean was avoiding it.

“I always want you, Dean.  That’s part of the problem,” he said with a humorless laugh.

Dean’s brow creased and he focused on the dry skin of Castiel’s hands.  It was still recovering from his disinfecting spree a week ago.

“I’m so sorry, Dean.  That wasn’t my intention.  I just didn’t want you to think I was trying to reach outside our arrangement and control you.  I would never offer you to another.  I honestly don’t like the idea of you seeing people in your personal life; I certainly wouldn’t even consider the possibility of offering you to another while you’re mine.  You _are_ mine.  And I think I might get quite combative if someone tried to lay his eyes on you let alone a hand.”

“Uh…really?”

“Yes.  Come with me,” Castiel said.  “I’ll show you how much you belong to me.  You don’t need to wear the collar.”

“I—I can’t…I can’t do this as…me.  I mean, it’s not me.  Not really.  It’s a game.  It’s—”

“Sh, sh,” Castiel shushed him and pulled the collar out of his hands.  “I understand.  May I put this on?”

Dean nodded and Castiel deftly fastened the collar into place.  He stroked his hands down Dean’s face and neck.

“Just relax.  Slip away.  I’ve got you.”

Dean followed Castiel to the bathroom feeling a little numb.  The bath helped him warm up, literally and mentally, but it also served to relax him.  He was totally pliant as Cas laid him out on the bed and began kissing and licking and biting him…fucking everywhere.  Dean threw his head back and let out an “unh!” as Castiel found his nipples with fingers and teeth.

“Dean, get on your stomach.”

Dean rolled over and spread his legs.  He held onto the pillow under his head and waited excitedly as Castiel opened the nightstand drawer.  Then he heard a shaking sound, a bit like a ball bearing in a spray paint can.  He looked over his shoulder and saw Castiel holding a red marker.

“Wha’zat?”

“Relax.”

Dean settled back down and Cas put the tip of the marker at the back of his neck.  And then he began to write.  Dean could tell it was writing and not pictures or doodles, but he couldn’t pick out any words, just a letter here and there.  Castiel wrote over his shoulders, down his back, all the way to the swell of his ass.  It was quite soothing, calming his disquiet, but also oddly sensual and had him half hard against the sheets.  Then Castiel finished with a flare on his left butt cheek.

“Signed and dated,” Castiel said, snapping the cap back on the marker.

“What’s it say?”

Castiel trailed his fingers over the words on his back.

“’This man belongs to me.’”

Dean shivered.

“’He has offered me his body, but greater still, he has offered me his trust.  I can see his damage though I know not what caused it.’”

Deans’ heart sped up in alarm.

“’But I will strive to be the one who heals him.’”

Dean turned his face into the pillow.

“’This beautiful, wild, gentle, scarred, hopeful man belongs to me.  He deserves better than a broken shadow of a man such as I.’”

Dean turned his face back, a protest on his lips, but Castiel put his fingers to his lips.

“’But I will not give him up.  And I will fail him only when I can’t give anymore.  This man belongs to me, as surely as I belong to him.’”

Dean buried his face in the pillow again.  “Shit,” he mumbled, ignoring the damp spots on the pillowcase.  Castiel’s hand splayed possessively along his back.

“Can I have you?”

Dean nodded.  Castiel leaned close to whisper in his ear.

“Would you like the newest kink added to the list?”

 _Penetration_.

Dean nodded.  Castiel returned to the nightstand and this time the snap of a lid definitely sounded like lube.  The man spread Dean’s legs farther apart and settled between them.  He gently spread his ass cheeks, and then his tongue was licking him open.  Dean pushed his hips back and grasped two fistfuls of sheets.  He groaned softly and breathed as best he could around the fluffy pillow as Castiel’s tongue worked at him slowly and gently, only adding a slick finger once his entrance was soft and flexing for more.

Castiel fingered him slowly and methodically.  He deliberately avoided Dean’s prostate so that he had a nice but gradual increase of arousal.  He kissed lightly over Dean’s back, possibly avoiding the writing or aiming for deliberate words.  It was such a steady, relaxing way to be prepped that it took feeling the curve of Cas’ thumb for him to realize that the man had four fingers slowly fucking inside him.

“Think I’m ready,” Dean said on an exhale that was _not_ a sigh.

Castiel’s fingers disappeared and his cockhead pushed against his entrance moments later.  He slid in pretty easily and Dean kind of missed that initial jolt of pain, but he had to admit, this felt nice too.  Castiel leaned forward and pushed his cock in to the balls.  He kissed Dean’s neck and started to thrust gently into him.  Dean hummed and appreciated the feel of it.  It wasn’t the wild press of a building orgasm, it was the sensuous pleasure of _feeling_ someone moving inside him.  It wasn’t a feeling he had a lot of experience with.

Then Castiel pulled out and patted his hip.  “Turn over.”

“M’good like this.  Perfect.  Keep going.”

“I don’t want to smudge it before I can take a picture.  Turn over so that I can get close.”

Dean grumbled, but turned over onto his back.  Cas smiled and put his hands behind Dean’s knees and pushed his legs apart.  He started to push back in; he was hard enough that he didn’t need a hand to guide himself.

“Also, I like seeing you like this.”

Dean turned his head to the side and Castiel began thrusting again.  On the nightstand he saw a dark wood box.

“Do you keep my collar in here?”

“Unh-huh.”

“That’s a little creepy.”

“Practical,” Cas said, rolling his hips and making Dean moan.  “The word you’re looking for is practical.”

Dean stared at the box and gripped the sheets, Castiel’s cock filling him over and over and over…

“I want it,” Dean said.

“I thought I _was_ giving it to you.”

“My collar.”

Castiel paused and looked where Dean was looking.  Then he leaned over and Dean grunted as the movement was both pleasant and not.  He opened the box and pulled out Dean’s specially made collar.  He held it out to him.

“Put it on,” Dean said.

Castiel didn’t argue and reached behind Dean’s neck to undo the red vinyl collar.  He sat back up to close the clasp and then toss it gently to the nightstand.  Dean was very aware that at this moment, he was uncollared, and Castiel was buried deep inside of _him_.  Dean.  Without the collar Dean.  Dean Winchester.

And then his collar was being fastened around his neck and Dean relaxed.  Castiel ran his fingers over it and kissed him on the lips.

“Good?”

Dean nodded.  “Yes, sir.”

Castiel picked up his pace almost immediately, but it still had to be a good thirty minutes of fucking and backing off, stroking his cock and just teasing it, before he settled into a faster, more determined rhythm.  Castiel helped Dean get there by pumping his cock in the slick glide of his hand.  Or perhaps he was helping himself by getting Dean there faster because as soon as Dean came, Castiel was right behind him, groaning and shoving his hips against Dean’s body so that he couldn’t possibly be any deeper inside.  Then he lowered himself carefully, using his arms to keep some of his weight off of Dean as they breathed and recovered.

“Dean…”

“Yes?”

“Don’t go on anymore dates.”

“Yes, sir.”

~~~

The next two weeks were blissful.  Mainly because neither of them spoke about what had happened on that Monday when the line between business and personal had gotten a little blurred.  Also because Castiel had no relapses and there were times when he almost seemed like a normal person.  Dean felt a little guilty for using terms like “normal person,” but hell, it was weird that he hadn’t seen the sky in seven years.

Castiel apparently found his confidence though and ran Dean through quite a bit of the Section Four list.  He’d been tied to chairs and bedposts.  He’d gotten slapped, spanked, and covered nearly head to toe in jizz.  He’d been dressed in a three-piece suit and then told to play the role of 50’s film noir rogue who had come to Private Investigator Novak for help getting absolved of murder.  That one hadn’t been quite so sexy as Dean had kept laughing at Castiel’s poor acting skills.  He’d apologized through the tears streaming down his face from laughing too hard, but he knew he’d still hurt his feelings a bit.  He made up for it by putting on the blue panties and the silk stockings and the garter belt.  It was so embarrassing, but Castiel had gotten off harder than he’d seen in a while.

There was the day where Castiel methodically went through one of the drawers in the playroom, starting with a small vibrating bullet and working his way through every plug, toy, and dildo they had sorted weeks before.  When Castiel finally finished with the last one, Dean hadn’t been tight enough around Castiel’s cock and the loose, squelching fucking had been so wrong it’d been hot and Dean had been a boneless mess as Castiel used his abused hole.

Over the next several days he’d actually had to do some Kegel exercises to tighten everything back up.  Otherwise he was worried he might accidentally slip-shit his pants.  Not everything about anal sex was sexy and romantic.

They’d also tried cockwarming once.  Dean could do it, obviously he had very little gag reflex to speak of, and he did like the focus it gave him.  But after a while they both got bored and couldn’t figure out the point of it.  After that they’d decided to make ice cream sundaes to try to dispel the slight weirdness that had resulted.  Castiel dripped chocolate sauce all over Dean’s chest and shoulders and then licked a caramel trail down his abdomen to his dick, and never had Dean been more grateful that Crowley had made all his strippers wax.  He’d kept it up because the hair growing back in was itchy as fuck, and now apparently, would be in danger of getting sticky with food.  He was a little irritated that only Castiel was having fun, so he sprayed him with whipping cream.  Castiel stopped what he was doing in alarm, so Dean sprayed some of the fluffy white sweetness into his open mouth.  He sputtered and Dean laughed and then a fight broke out.

They made an absolute mess and Dean was thrilled that they were able to have sex, shower, and relax in the onsen for a bit before Castiel remembered the kitchen.  They cleaned it up together and Dean was bursting to point out to Castiel that he had made a mess and survived it, but he wasn’t sure if that would be insulting or piss him off.  So he just hummed with quiet pride and Cas kept looking at him with that cute, squinty, possibly plotting a murder expression of his.

~~~

It was a Wednesday in the first week of June, and Dean was sprawled on top of Castiel on the couch.  Castiel was reading some science book—not science fiction, but like, actual science—and his copy of _The Power and the Glory_ was slipping from his fingers as he started to doze.  He could feel himself falling into a dream about Mexican dentists when Castiel nudged him and made him sit up.  He moved just enough for Castiel to get off the couch, and then he settled back down in the warm spot left behind.  His dream shifted to priests and he wondered if Castiel was going to pull out one of those costumes when the man shook him and made him sit up.  Dean grumbled and rubbed his eyes and yawned, but sat up enough for Castiel to sit back down.  Then he snuggled (but it was very manly snuggling) back into Cas’ side.

“You need to sit up,” Castiel said, but there was humor in his voice.

“Why?”

“Because I received a gift from a friend and I wanted us to try it.”

Dean sat up.  “S’it kinky?”

“What?  No,” Castiel laughed.  “It’s wine.  My friend owns a vineyard in Napa Valley.  He sent me a red and a white.  I thought we’d try the white.”

“Is the friend Charlie?” he asked around another yawn, too sleepy to pay attention to pronouns.

“No…it’s someone else.  A friend of a friend actually.  Though we became friends too.  I was surprised we stayed friends after…well, after our mutual friend passed away.”

Dean was wide awake now.  Castiel was focused on pouring the wine, but Dean was focused on what he had said.  That was the first hint about any events surrounding the before/after event of Castiel’s life.  Well, maybe.  It’s possible that the friend’s passing had nothing to do with it, but that pause had been the pause everyone used to demark the two parts of Castiel’s life.

Castiel picked up the two glasses and sat back, handing one to Dean.  Dean watched as Cas stuck his whole nose into the glass and inhaled.  Then he swirled the glass around and examined it in the false daylight.  Then he took a small sip and rolled it around in his mouth.  Finally, he nodded his head.

“Not bad.”  He took a bigger sip and looked over at Dean.  “What?”

“Do you know what you’re doing, or was that all bullshit?”

“I took a wine tasting course in college,” Cas replied peevishly.

“You can take a class in college that requires you to get drunk?  I never should have dropped out.”

“You had to spit.”

“Spit what?”

“The wine.  After we tasted it, we had to spit it out.”

“Ohhhhh.  I would be very bad at that class.  I like to swallow.”

He sent Cas a wink and the man rolled his eyes.

“So, are you going to try it?”

Dean opened his mouth to reply, but then stopped and looked at the glass.  There was some condensation from the chill of the wine, which was a nice butter color.

“I, uh, haven’t had any alcohol in two years.”

Castiel tried to cover that he’d choked slightly on his next sip.  “I…didn’t know you’re an alcoholic.”

“I’m not.  It was a choice I made.”

“Either way, it was very insensitive of me to offer without asking you first.  You don’t have to drink it.”

“I know but…you know what’s weird?  Not only do I trust you, but I trust myself when I’m around you.  I think so long as you control what, when, and how much I drink, it will be no different than me not drinking at all.”

“Only if you’re certain.”

“Well, not about the wine.  You got a friend that owns a brewery?”

Castiel smiled.  “Actually, I do.”

“ _Really_?  You have the best friends.”

“Hmm.  The best—all hundreds of miles away.”

“Okay, that you can’t blame on your neurosis; that’s just your personality.”

Castiel smiled and stroked a hand through Dean’s hair.  “Would you want my friends constantly dropping by?”

“No,” Dean groused.

He raised the glass to his lips and took a sip.  Sour, with a bit sweetness.  Just like all wines.

“Well?”

Dean shrugged.  “Eh.”

“Uncultured.”

“Maybe you should have given me that verbal test during the interview after all.”

Castiel laughed and leaned into Dean, resting his head on his shoulder.  He took another sip of his wine, very carefully since he didn’t lift his head up.  Dean shifted so that Castiel could settle against him more comfortably.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“You said you made a choice to stop drinking alcohol.  May I ask why?”

Dean sighed heavily.

“You don’t have to answer.”

“I know.  So, um, my dad…is an alcoholic.  It’s one of the reasons why I have to take care of Sam.  He just can’t.  He’s not a bad father.  Not exactly.  Our whole family was in a car crash when Sam was just a baby.  Our mother died and my dad, he…he was never the same.  He tried.  He really did.  But he was suddenly a single father of two young boys and my mother’s parents were a little hard on him—they blamed him for Mom’s death.  I think he blamed himself too.  And he just drank to dull the ache until he had to drink to function.  Of course by that point, you’re not really functioning.  He couldn’t keep a job.  He kept getting arrested for DUI’s.

“After I had to drop out of school to support us, I went a little wild.  I guess I was kind of bitter.  So I partied hard and more than once woke up from a blackout.  And I got lucky, my wakeup call wasn’t because of a tragedy.  I got a call from the school that Sam had broken his wrist playing soccer.  I was totally sober and could go pick him up and take him to the emergency room, but the whole time I just kept thinking, ‘What if I had been passed out on some stranger’s floor?  Who would have taken care of Sam?’  It scared me too much.  Well, that and seeing my father deny he had a problem even though he would rage and break shit and never remember it in the morning.  I didn’t want to chance that I could end up like that.  So, I stopped drinking altogether.”

“I’m sorry, Dean.”  Castiel’s fingers stroked over his wrist.

“Eh.  What would life be like without adversity?”

“Hn.”  Castiel’s fingers danced to the underside of his wrist and a tingle raced up his arm.  “Do you ever see your father?”

“Occasionally.  In theory he lives with us, but he disappears for days, and now, weeks at a time.”

“Oh.”  Castiel suddenly sat up and Dean jumped, barely preventing his wine from sloshing over the top.  “Is he the one that hit you?  That bruise on your face.  Did he—”

“Cas, I’m going to say it was an accident, and I know what you’re going to think, but it really was an accident.  He’s never come after me intentionally.”

Castiel frowned and Dean leaned over to set his wine glass down.  Then he took Castiel’s glass and it joined his on the table.  He turned back to the still frowning man and cupped his jaw.

“Hey, none of that,” Dean said, leaning forward and kissing him.

Castiel allowed it for a few moments, and then he pulled away.  Dean sighed and dropped his hand.  He was probably going to get a lecture now.

“I’m afraid to go outside not because I’m afraid I will get hurt, but that someone else will.  I’m terrified of things that can happen accidentally.”

Dean tilted his head, not quite sure he was following, but not risking interrupting him.  Castiel’s gaze was directed at a spot on the floor, but Dean didn’t think he was actually seeing it.

“I’m afraid of the accidents I might cause.  Seven years ago—almost eight now in August—I was driving home from work.  I was obeying the speed limit.  I obeyed all the traffic signs; didn’t try to beat any yellow lights.  Signaled, left two car lengths between my car and others.  I was a careful driver.  Always was.  Never deviated, always took the same way home at the same time so that everything was familiar.  I was _always_ careful.  Never talked on the phone, never fiddled with the radio while the car was moving.  I always checked intersections for jaywalkers.”

Dean couldn’t stop himself from moving his hand to Castiel’s and giving it a squeeze.  Fortunately, the gesture didn’t make him self-conscious and stop talking.

“This, uh, this little girl.  Chased a balloon into the street.  It was red.  Her dress was white.  She had blonde hair.  She just stepped right off the curb.  I didn’t even have time to brake before I hit her.  She didn’t die instantly though.  She struggled and suffered for a few minutes.  Died before the ambulance arrived though.

“I killed a seven year old girl.  It was ruled an accident and I wasn’t charged, but…I ended the life of a child.”

“Cas, you can’t blame yourself for that.”

“Then who’s to blame for why she died?”

“Whoever was with her and wasn’t holding her hand for one thing.  But, sometimes shit just happens.  That’s why accidents are called accidents.”

“Accidents…right.  They still have repercussions though.  You can’t sweep them under the rug and try to pretend it never happened because other people are affected by your accident.  That’s girl’s family, my brother.  It all just spiraled and destroyed lives and it’s all because I had an ‘accident,’” he finished with a snarl.

“Cas,” Dean said softly, brow creased.  He rubbed his forearm gently.  “Did something else happen?”

Castiel was still another moment, and then his vision cleared.  He looked up at Dean.

“What?”

“Did something happen to Gabriel?  You said your brother—”

Castiel stood up.  “You should leave.  It’s close enough to four.”

“Cas, come on—”

“I said!” he shouted.  Dean flinched as Castiel reached for him, but all he did was unlatch the collar and then let it fall to the couch.  “Leave!”

He turned and stomped out of the room.  Dean sat stunned, completely thrown by what had just happened.  He turned and saw the collar laying on its side on the couch cushion.  Castiel wasn’t allowed to take it off.  He could call off a scene if he wanted to, but the collar wasn’t his choice.  He’d said so.  Dean looked back at the hallway entrance.  He stood up with a burst of anger.

Dean stalked across the room, grateful he was wearing the yoga pants because a dick flopping about would make it difficult for even himself to take him seriously.  He paused in the hallway, glancing toward the office.  Then he heard noise in Castiel’s room.  He marched over and pushed on the partially open door.  It banged against the wall and Castiel started and turned around, surprise evident in his wide eyes.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” Dean asked.

“Shouldn’t I be saying that?  I told you to get out.”

“Yeah, well, unfortunately you told me that _after_ you took off my collar.  So, guess what?  Not your bitch when it’s off.  Not yours at all.”

Castiel flinched.

“Look, I know I don’t have any right to know anything about your private life, but you volunteered information and I was just—”

“Yes, I know.  I’m aware, Dean.  I was there too.  And then I changed my mind about opening up.  People can change their minds.”  He took two steps toward Dean.  “You have no right to be in my home uninvited and lecturing me on what I’m supposed to do for you!”

“Fuck you, you fucking psycho!” Dean yelled, jabbing his finger forward, the momentum bringing him closer.  “We have a fucking arrangement.  You remember those goddamned rules you made me sign?”  Dean poked his finger in Castiel’s chest.  “The ones that say you’re not allowed to control my headspace?”  He jabbed him in the chest again.  “That you’re not allowed to take off my collar no matter how much of a pissy,” jab, “little,” jab, “bitch,” jab, “you’re being?”

His last jab was slapped away by Castiel’s hand.

“We can address my breach of contract at a later date.  As of now you’re trespassing!”  He put a hand to Dean’s chest and pushed him back, but Dean didn’t budge.  Instead he pressed in closer.

“What are you going to do about it, _buddy_?  Call the cops?  It’ll be interesting how they’ll arrest me if you won’t even let them in the front fucking door!  Freak,” Dean muttered.

Castiel pulled his hand back and slapped Dean across the face.  The sharp crack in the air seemed to startle them both.  Dean stood frozen, and then he shrugged and slapped Cas back.  The man turned slightly with the force, and then turned back with a hand to his cheek looking so shocked it was almost funny.  Then they lunged at each other.

Dean had been in one or two bar brawls before.  He’d been in one that had actually been serious.  This fight with Castiel was a little different though.  The grappling at clothes seemed to result in clothes hitting the floor instead of the people in them.  And the punching was definitely a lot more like kissing.

They hit the bed with harsh grunts and then Cas was shoving his legs apart, spitting in his hand and painfully scissoring Dean’s entrance open with two fingers.  Dean had his hand in Castiel’s hair, pulled on it viciously and kiss-bit Cas’ lips so roughly he could taste blood.  Then Castiel shoved inside him.  Dean hissed and raked his nails down Castiel’s back at the abrupt shot of pain.  Castiel began moving and Dean closed his and eyes and bit his lips through the first few strokes, and then it stopped hurting.  He relaxed and hooked one leg around Castiel’s waist.  The man took that as a sign that he was good to go and started wailing away at his ass.

They were loud.  Not just from the slam of bodies and the headboard, but they were grunting and groaning and occasionally shouting out obscenities.  Castiel got a hand on Dean’s dick and jacked him roughly.  Dean tossed his head on the pillow and yelled at Castiel for being such a pussy.  He could fuck harder than that, couldn’t he?  He almost regretted his words because Castiel did a have a little bit more in him and Dean almost couldn’t take it.  And then they were both coming, screaming and shouting their releases, clawing at each other’s bodies, all of their energy and anger and hurt exploding out them.

Castiel collapsed on top of him, and Dean just turned his head to the side so that he could breathe.  He panted harshly, his chest heaving not only with the need for air, but against Castiel’s weight.  He shoved his shoulder.

“Get off me,” Dean complained.

Castiel groaned softly, and then struggled to push himself up and over.  Dean keened and a spike of orgasmic pleasure hit him when Cas’ dick pulled out of him.  He settled back down and put his hands above his head.

“Shit.”

“Oh, God,” Castiel said, covering his eyes with a hand.  “Are you okay?”

“Fine.  You?”

“Yeah.”

There was a pause and Castiel dropped his hand to his side.

“Sorry I overreacted.”

“Sorry I slapped you.”

“I slapped you first.”

“True.”

“But you did call me a freak.”

“Also true.”

Dean turned his head to look at Cas, and he did the same, their noses about an inch apart.

“We good?” Dean asked.

“Yeah,” Cas said.  “We’re good.”

“Alright.  I’ll see you tomorrow at eight.”

“Goodbye, Dean.”

Dean got out of the bed and left the yoga pants on the floor.  Castiel could deal with those.  He stepped into the bathroom to quickly wipe down his stomach and thighs, and then he gave Cas a little wave as he left the room.  He went to the footlocker and dressed.  Then he reached his hands up to take off his collar.  It wasn’t there.  He panicked.  Had the strap broken?  Had it fallen o—Dean swallowed and turned his head toward the living room.  His collar was still sitting on the couch cushion.  He hadn’t been wearing it.  He hadn’t been wearing it and they had…

Dean grabbed his shoes and bolted out the door.  He made it onto the elevator before he realized he was still holding his shoes in his hands.  He slipped them on, lost his balance and almost fell, and then walked quickly to his car.  He hated how slowly the garage door on Castiel’s building was.  He was itching to drive away and his hands clenched and unclenched around the steering wheel.  As soon as there was enough daylight, Dena peeled out of the garage.  He sped through the Huntsville city streets, having no clue where he was going until he found himself in the parking lot for Sweet Things.  There were actually spaces available at four in the afternoon on a Wednesday, but not many.

Dean had no idea if Gabriel would be there now.  He worked late hours, so he might not come in until the evening.  He made his way around to the back and kind of recognized the security guard.  The man nodded at him and punched in the code without him having to say anything.  Either the guy recognized him or just thought that Dean looked like he knew where he was going.  Confidence could get you almost anywhere.

Dean traveled through the dark downstairs corridors, the bass of house music throbbing through the floor even at this hour.  He passed by a couple people he vaguely recognized, but he was too intent on getting to Gabriel to give them more than a cursory nod.  The door to the man’s office was closed, but there was a light shining out from the bottom.  He knocked on the door rapidly, and then pulled his hand back and exhaled slowly.  He needed to calm down so that he didn’t look like he had rabies when Gabriel opened the door.

The door opened after a minute of muffled voices and rustling clothes.  Kali, the hot bartender, slipped out and gave Dean a tight nod as she ran back upstairs.  Gabriel cocked his head when he saw him.

“Deano!  I wasn’t expecting you.”

“I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“Eh, we were done.  Well, I was done.  She’s never done if you know what I mean, heh heh.”

“I actually don’t know what you mean.”

“Don’t worry about it.  What brings you here?  Is something wrong?”  Gabriel sobered in the snap of fingers.  “Is Cas okay?”

“What?  Um, yeah, he’s fine.  More or less.  Like always.  I, um.  I really need to talk to someone, and you are the only person I can talk to.”

Gabriel stepped aside, allowing Dean to enter.  “What’s wrong?” he asked, shutting the door.

Dean took in a deep breath.  Then he turned and faced Gabriel.  He exhaled shakily.

“Your brother and I had sex.”

Gabriel blinked at him.  And then chuckled.  “Does he still hold out on people?  It was six months before he fucked one of his subs once.  Consider yourself lucky you got him to break down after two.”

“N-no.  We had sex at the end of the first month.  But, it was always within the terms of the arrangement.  See, I don’t know if you read each new iteration of the arrangement—”

“I never read the first one.  Although you guys do amend it more than he has with any other sub.”

“Okay, well, part of it is that I wear a collar.”

“Dean, do I need to know the specifics of the kinky sex you have with my little brother?”

“Stepbrother.”

“Don’t be catty.”

“And I’m not giving you details of the sex.  Just the arrangement.  I wear the collar because—I need it to designate the difference between on duty and off duty for me.  Right?  Like, when the collar is on, I’m working and it’s…it’s okay…”

“It’s okay to enjoy it.”

Dean dropped his eyes.  “Essentially.  Anyway, we were talking and I…”

“You guys talk?  Figured it be straight bunny-ing for you two.”  Gabriel pantomimed slapping the imaginary ass he was fucking.

Dean huffed.

“Sorry, continue.”

“We were talking and I told him about, well, something personal, and then Castiel told me why he is the way he is—”

“He told you about—” Gabriel cut in, and then paused.  “What exactly did he tell you?”

“He told me about the little girl he hit and killed.”

“Is that all?”

Dean gave Gabriel a look.  “Is there more?”

Gabriel shrugged and wouldn’t say anything else.  Odd for a person who ordinarily couldn’t shut up.  Dean waited, wondering if he could get Gabriel to break with silence.

“So,” Gabriel said after seven seconds.  “He told you about Lilith.  Then what?”

“Then I…I don’t even know what it was that I said that set him off.  Maybe that accidents are accidents, I don’t know.  But he flipped out.  He told me to leave and took off my collar.  He’s not allowed to do that.  He’s not allowed to take it off himself.”

Gabriel nodded.

“So, I followed him to his bedroom.  And we yelled.  And we shoved each other a bit.  And then we—”

“Succumbed to the classic heated argument cliché and fucked instead?”

“Y-yeah.”  Dean looked at the floor.  “And my collar was off.  _And_ it was after my shift had ended.  Which means we weren’t—we weren’t in the arrangement.  It was just me, and it was just him, and we…had sex.”

“Ah, I see.  So, it had nothing to do with business.  You just banged my little brother.”

“Well, technically, he banged me,” Dean muttered.

“Whatever, Deano!  I need to use these ears for the rest of my life!  Sheesh.  Either way, what’s the problem?”

“The problem?  It wasn’t business!  That was just—us!  I mean, we were too wrapped up in the fight to really acknowledge it, but that doesn’t change the fact that we definitely stepped outside the bounds of the arrangement.”

“Were you still fighting when you left?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“I need to know if he’s going to be messed up and I need to go see him.”

“No, he’s fine.  We’re fine.  I’m going to work in the morning.  The problem isn’t that we had a fight, it’s that we had makeup sex!  You can’t have makeup sex in a business arrangement.”

“Well, depends on the culture,” Gabriel mused.  “Also it sounds more like you had angry sex or hate sex, not makeup sex.  That’ll come tomorrow I imagine.”

“Gabriellllll!” Dean wailed, a little embarrassed at his desperation.

“What?” Gabriel asked with a small laugh.  “What do you want me to do?  Tell you that you don’t like my brother?  That you and Cas aren’t possibly having a _Pretty Woman_ experience?”

Dean made a confused, pondering face.  “Julia Roberts, right?”

“Oh, my God, you are so young.  The hooker and the John fall in love.”

Dean went rigid.  “That’s not, we’re not—so, I should quit then.  Before it’s too late.”

Gabriel raised his eyebrows and Dean could practically _hear_ him saying, _It might already be too late_.

“Do you want to quit?”

“Huh?”

“Do you want to end the relationship?  Or maybe, do you just want to end the arrangement?”

“What’s the difference?”

Gabriel sighed.  “I guess you’re not there yet.  Okay.  Here’s the thing, kiddo.  Even when people say ‘it’s just business’ these kind of long term, in your face arrangements tend to get muddled fast.  It’s not unusual for people to develop affection for each other when they’re constantly being intimate with each other and trusting each other with their safety, and in some extreme cases, their lives.  But just because you have feelings for him—whatever they may be—that doesn’t mean you’re ready for a white wedding or anything.  Though, I suppose in your case we better go with ivy or something.  ‘White’ would definitely be a stretch—”

“Gabriel,” Dean sighed.

“Do you want to stop seeing him?”

Dean shifted his weight.  “What?”

“It’s a simple question, Dean, and I won’t take a bullshit avoidance answer.  Do you want to stop seeing him?”

Dean shook his head.

Gabriel shrugged.  “Then don’t stop.  If you need to, make sure you follow the rules outlined in the contract more carefully, and you should be fine.”

Dean nodded.  “Yeah.  Yeah, okay.  Thank you, Gabriel.”

Gabriel gave him an odd look that was amused, but also a little sympathetic.  “Any time, kiddo.”

~~~

Dean opened the box that contained the red vinyl collar.  Castiel stood nearby, chewing on a nail and watching him.  Dean didn’t hesitate as he put the collar on.  Castiel exhaled, visibly relieved.

“Go take a bath.  And be thorough.  Then meet me in the playroom.”

Castiel walked out of the room and Dean got undressed in record time.  He tried not to rush through his bathing, but he was so excited he kept dropping the bar soap.  He didn’t bother with an actual bath, but he made certain that he scrubbed his skin pink and washed and conditioned his hair.  He always hate having to douche himself, but the anticipation of why he was helped him get through it easily.  He almost forgot to brush his teeth, but then hopped back to the sink and gave them a quick scrub, relying on the mouthwash to do most of the work.  He walked eagerly down the hall to the playroom, and was startled to find Castiel waiting for him at the doorway.

Castiel stepped back to allow Dean to enter the room and its faint pink glow.  Then the man leaned forward and kissed him lightly, sweetly on the lips.  He heard the soft snick of the door closing behind him.  Then Castiel pulled back and his eyes flicked over his face.  Dean opened his lips to speak, and that’s when Castiel raised his arms and shoved a tie between his lips and teeth.  He tied it in place behind his head, and then pulled out the blindfold.

From there he was led to a wall and made to face it, his growing erection brushed the padding.  His wrists were put in handcuffs lined with lambskin, and a small device that beeped and substituted for his safe word was curled into his palm.  Then Dean heard the sound of a chain.  It was snapped onto the cuffs and then tossed over one of the ceilings hooks.  Castiel pulled it taut and Dean hit the wall roughly.

Holy fuck.  Castiel had _literally_ chained him to the wall.  Dean moaned softly and rubbed his cock against the padding of the wall.  He yelped through the gag when he got popped on the ass.

“Don’t try to get yourself off.”

Dean stopped moving.  He heard the shelves in the wall being pulled out, and then Castiel lifted him from behind by his legs and settled him spread open on them.  He wasn’t as open as last time, facing forward his legs didn’t spread that far, but he was still completely exposed to Castiel’s eyes, hands, lips…

Dean gasped when he felt Castiel press against his back, his hot breath just behind his ear.

“Do you have your safety buzzer, Dean?”

He pushed the button and the buzzer sounded sharply.

“Shall we begin?”

“Mm.”

~~~

At the end of his shift, Dean was tired and sore and so completely satiated he might not need sex for the rest of his life.  Though he’d still want it.  He also wanted it to be Friday so he could spend the night.  Castiel stayed with him while he changed, and took his collar from him when he took it off and carefully put it in the box.  Dean picked up his shoes and stepped outside.  He turned back and saw that Cas was right at the door.

He looked like he was going to say something, and Dean wondered if he should too, but they’d already come to an understanding without words.  They didn’t need any now.  Dean took a chance and leaned slightly forward.  Castiel met him halfway and they kissed over the threshold.

“Bye, Cas.”

“See you tomorrow, Dean.”

Castiel shut the door and Dean walked down the hall, still clutching his shoes.  Hadn’t he just gone crying to Gabriel yesterday about breaking the rules when the collar was off?  He shrugged it off as he pushed the call button for the elevator.  As long as they were _aware_ they were breaking the rules, then it barely counted as breaking the rules at all.


	11. Chapter 11

The goodbye kiss at the door was a rule they continued to break at the end of every shift.  Sometimes it was more of a goodbye tongue swap than a kiss, but it was nice to have closure to their days.

June ran its course and Castiel had his good days and bad days, but the definition of a bad day was slightly baggy jeans and the occasional suspicious dumping of “contaminated” food.  Sam finished tenth grade with straight A’s and a girlfriend that was way too hot for him.  He got a job at Sonic making milkshakes, which was endlessly amusing to Dean, and it kept Sam out of trouble.  And thoroughly embarrassed whenever Dean stopped by on his Saturday shift with Benny or Jo and one time Victor and all the guys that played pickup ball at the city park court.

In all that time their father had mostly remained a ghost.  He’d seen evidence that he’d been home a couple of times, and one time found him curled up and whimpering on his bathroom floor near a puddle of vomit.  He wanted to help his father, but he wasn’t sure how he would even begin to help someone who was happiest when they were numb to the world.

July started off hot and humid.  The Fourth of July was Sam’s and Dean’s favorite holiday and Castiel had readily given Dean the day off.  He wondered if Cas watched fireworks on television, or if he was brave enough to peek outside a window.  Huntsville put on a pretty decent pyrotechnic show since they could set it up over the reservoir, and one of Castiel’s windows was bound to have an amazing view of it.

It was a couple of days after the Fourth, and Dean was in the kitchen preparing baked chicken strips (essentially chicken nuggets) from scratch.  Since it involved dipping raw chicken into a raw egg and then tossing it around in a plastic bag with Bisquick and some spices, Castiel opted to stay in the office and work until everything was cooked and ready to eat.  He’d just finished putting the last of the coated chicken on the foil covered cookie sheet when he noticed that he’d forgotten to preheat the oven.  He cursed under his breath and walked over to the sink to wash his hands.  Suddenly, a steady ringing alarm broke the silence.

Dean turned his head curiously, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from.  It wasn’t the smoke detector in the kitchen; that had an irritating high pitched beep.  He walked toward the living and the sound became louder as he neared the front door.  When he opened the door, the sound became ten times louder and it was clearly the building’s fire alarm.  He lived in a shared building, so he knew that fire alarms tended to be false alarms more often than not, but when he stuck his head into the hallway he smelled smoke.

“Shit.”

Dean closed the door and hurried back to the office.  Castiel was sitting at his desk, unperturbed by the alarm, which Dean had to admit was barely audible in the backrooms and probably completely inaudible in the playroom.  It turned out the padding on the walls wasn’t just for comfort, it was soundproofing.

“Hey, uh, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean,” Cas replied, remaining focused on his work.

“The fire alarm is going off.”

“Well, you can’t crack a window, but if you wave something at it, it should shut off.”

“No, not the smoke detector, the fire alarm.  For the building.”

“Ah.  It’s probably a false alarm.”

“There’s smoke in the hallway.”

Castiel finally stopped typing and turned to face Dean.  “I see.  Then you should leave the building and come back when you get the all clear.”  He turned back to his work.

Dean put out his hands and pulled a face.  _Say what?_

“Uh…I mean, I get that these things are usually bullshit, but there’s smoke in the hall, Cas.”

“And what do you want me to do, Dean?” Castiel asked with resignation in his tone.

“Uh, leave?”

“I can’t do that.”

“Are you seriously more afraid of going outside than burning alive?”

Castiel turned to face him.  “Don’t you get it?  Going outside is just as terrifying to me as burning alive.  If I go outside, I will definitely be outside and I will definitely not be okay.  But if I stay here, more than likely the fire will be contained before it gets here, so there’s a chance nothing will happen to me.  I will take the possibility that nothing will happen to me over something definitely will happen to me.”

“You just have to look at it like there’s only a _possibility_ something will happen to you if you go outside.”

Castiel shook his head.  “I’m staying here.  But, you need to leave.”  He gave him a pointed look.  “I’m ordering you to evacuate.”

Dean gave him an incredulous, annoyed look, but Cas turned back to his computer like the discussion was over.  Dean stared at him for a moment, and then he walked back to the front room.  The alarm was still going.  He opened the door and not only could he smell the smoke now, but he could see it coming from the door across the hall.  He had a flash of worry about Jess, but he had to take care of Castiel first.

Dean opened the footlocker and pulled out his clothes, his shoes, and the pair of flip-flops Castiel kept stored in there for when he had to tiptoe over the threshold to put down the recycling (his landlord apparently was fed up with there being broken glass in the bottom of the container because he kept tossing it out).  Once everything was lined up and ready to go, Dean went to the playroom and searched through the drawers until he found a blindfold and a set of earplugs.  Then he steeled his nerves and headed back to the office.  Castiel turned in surprise when he heard him enter.

“I thought you left.”

“I’m not fucking leaving you, Cas.”

“Dean, there’s no sense in endangering yourself.”

“I’m not.”

Dean knelt down and turned Cas’ chair so that he was facing him.  He put his hands on his knees.

“Castiel…do you trust me?”

Dean would have appreciated an immediate yes, but Castiel struggled as he clearly understood that he was going to be trusting Dean with more than his wellbeing or even his life.  He was trusting him with his sanity.

“I-I trust you.”

“Okay.”

Dean moved forward and covered Castiel’s eyes with the blindfold, and then tied it securely behind his head.  Then he got to his feet and carefully put the earplugs in his ears.  He pulled Castiel to his feet and the man’s breathing immediately turned erratic.  He linked his arm with Cas’ and led him out of the room.  He dressed quickly at the front door, forgoing underwear and his usual over shirt in the interest of expediency.  Then he opened the door and tossed his shoes into the hallway.  He placed the flip-flops on the threshold and then guided Cas to step into them.  He balked when he first felt them, but Dean pulled him close and kissed his cheek, and finally he awkwardly slid them on his socked feet.  Then Dean made him step forward, and he was in the hallway.  The smoke wasn’t any thicker, but it was still present.  He slipped on his shoes, leaving the backs bunched up under his heels and walked Castiel to the elevator.  He wasn’t fool enough to try the stairs even though that was what they were supposed to do.

He wrapped his arms around Castiel as the elevator descended and he could feel the wild, panicked hammering of his heart in his chest.  Hopefully Dean hadn’t just saved him from a fire so that he would die of a heart attack.  In the lobby they ran into a few stragglers who were exiting the stairwell.  They got strange looks from everybody, but Dean couldn’t be bothered by it.  He still had to get Castiel outside and the hot July weather would most definitely signal that they were outside.

Predictably, Castiel froze when he felt the blast of heat when they approached the door.  There were people behind them, so Dean just wrapped an arm around Castiel’s waist and lifted him off his feet enough that he could carry him through the door.  Castiel let out a strange whining noise and Dean forced him to move at least a few yards away from the door.  Then he hugged Castiel to him and let the man wrap his arms around him like a scared octopus.

The wailing of sirens got steadily closer, and soon there were two fire trucks pulling up to the building.  The firemen gathered their gear, not seeming to be in much of a hurry, and Castiel made another one of those strange noises.  Dean kissed his temple and turned his head so that he could rest his cheek against Castiel.  The movement made him aware that he was still wearing his collar.  He blushed as he looked around and saw people were still staring at them.  He considered taking it off, but he had a feeling if he let go of Castiel, he might panic.

The firemen finally started to enter the building, and one of them paused as he looked at Dean and Cas.

“Is that the nutjob from the top floor?” he asked.

Dean gave the man a hard look.  “It’s one of the tenants from the top floor.”

The firemen nodded.  “I don’t know how you did it, but thank you for getting him out.”

“Uh…yeah.”

Then the fireman entered the building.  It couldn’t really be that big of a deal, could it?  Unwisely or not, people stayed inside during fire alarms all the time.  How often did this sort of thing happen that they were familiar with Castiel enough to know he wouldn’t leave his apartment?  Had there been a serious fire before and he’d just stayed through it?  How much of a fire hazard was this building anyway?

It was twenty minutes.  Twenty long, endless minutes of waiting while Castiel shivered and keened softly in fear in his arms.  When the firemen emerged, they gave everyone the all clear, saying there’d been a small kitchen fire in one of the penthouses, but that it was put out and nobody had been hurt.  Everyone began trudging back inside and Dean had to spend a couple of minutes coaxing Castiel to let go so that he could turn and walk inside.

There were two elevators for the building, and only a couple of people were taking the stairs, so there was a crowd in the lobby.  When the next elevator arrived, someone told Dean he could get on.  Everyone else stood aside and let him get on the lift with Castiel alone.  He didn’t know if it was because people were being considerate, or if they were just wary of being trapped in an enclosed space with a couple of freaks.

The walk to the apartment door was slow going despite the fact that Castiel must know he was inside and close to his apartment.  Dean was patient though and didn’t rush him.  He got the door open and slipped off their shoes before getting him to step inside.  He held him firmly by the elbow, letting him know he needed to stop moving.  Castiel stood obediently still while Dean quickly stripped out of his jeans and shirt and put the yoga pants on.  Then he led Castiel to the office and set him down in his chair.  He removed the ear plugs, and then moved around in front of Cas.  He untied the back of the blindfold, and then knelt down as he removed it.  Castiel’s eyes fluttered open and they were both in the same positions they had been in before he’d put on the blindfold.  Castiel could pretend they had never gone anywhere at all.

Castiel was clearly shaken, but his breathing sounded a little more controlled and he didn’t look like he was about to run and hide under the bed like a frightened cat.  Of course, that may have just been because there wasn’t a bed in the room.  Dean rubbed his hands on his thighs.

“Guess what?” Dean said, voice not quite as strong as he was aiming for.  “There was a small fire in the condo across the hall, but the firefighters put it out.  So, we’re safe.”

Castiel nodded.  He raised a hand and splayed it over Dean’s cheek and jaw.

“I need you,” he whispered.

Dean nodded.  “Okay.  Whatever you need.  What do you need?”

Castiel stood up and Dean did too.  Then Cas took him by the hand and led him to the bedroom.  He pushed Dean gently until he sat back on the bed and laid down on his back.  He grabbed the ankles of the yoga pants and began pulling them off.  Dean helped by lifting his hips and pushing the waistband over his ass.  Castiel disrobed slowly, never taking his eyes off of Dean.  Then he crawled onto the bed and took Dean’s soft member in his hand.

He began stroking him gently, applying just the right amount of pressure to get him heading in the right direction.  Soon Cas was able to swipe his thumb over the slit and gather up the precome so he could use it to lubricate his movements.  Dean was hard and thrumming with soothing pleasure, his hands running through his own hair, licking his lips as he watched Castiel.  He was still a little surprised how incredibly attractive he found the man.  While his hand felt good, obviously, just looking at Castiel was enough to get him going.  Especially when he was kneeling with a leg on either side of Dean’s, his cock hanging heavy and half-erect between his legs, his eyes dark and focused on him.

“Take yourself in hand.  Keep yourself erect, but don’t work yourself up.”

“Yes, sir.”

Castiel moved so he could reach into the nightstand for the lube.  When he was back in the middle of the bed, Dean spread his legs slightly more.  But then Castiel parted his own knees and reached back to begin fingering his own hole.  Dean stared dumbly, not quite understanding what this might mean at the moment.

“Don’t stop stroking,” Castiel said and Dean realized his hand had stopped moving in shock.

Dean quickly resumed fisting his cock and stared, almost in a trance, as Castiel prepped himself.  He couldn’t see what was actually happening because he was facing him, but Castiel’s face was a masterpiece of pleasure, arousal, concentration, and a touch of shyness.  This moment would probably be his number one go to masturbatory fantasy for the rest of his life.

“Don’t get too worked up,” Castiel breathed.

Dean stopped moving his hand and closed his eyes, concentrating on getting himself to calm down a bit.  When he opened his eyes, Castiel was staring at him, one hand on his cock, the other out of sight behind his body but presumably stretching his entrance.

“Oh, Jesus, Cas…”

“Almost ready, Dean.  Get comfortable.”

Dean was already perfectly fucking comfortable, but he slid a second pillow under his head and shoulders so that he was partially inclined without having to hold his head up.  He knew this was something he was going to want to see.

After another minute, Castiel moved his hands and crawled over Dean.  He leaned forward and kissed him, asking if he was ready.  He said yes and kissed him back.  Then Castiel rose up on his knees and used a hand to guide Dean’s cockhead to his entrance.  He pushed down very, very slowly and Dean’s hands were gripping the headboard as his vision filled with what had to be the birth of a new universe.  When Castiel was finally seated in his lap, Dean’s balls against his ass, Dean’s whole body was quaking with restrained need.

“You filled, baby?” Dean breathed, hands flexing around the dark wood of the headboard.

“Yes, Dean.”

“Ready?”

“I am.  Are you?”

“God, yes.”  Dean’s hands shot like an arrow to Castiel’s hips and then he bent his knees so that he could feel the first glorious fuck into Cas’ body.

“Stop.”

Dean froze.  That had been Castiel’s I’m-displeased-and-about-to-set-a-punishment-on-you voice.

“Put your hands back on the headboard.”

Dean obeyed.

“Put your legs back down.”

Dean obeyed.

“Now…don’t move.”

Dean obeyed, but barely.  Because Castiel was riding him maddeningly slowly.  His head was thrown back and he spent whole minutes just circling his hips in figure eights and feeling Dean inside of himself.  When he moved, it was to raise up until Dean almost pulled out, his cockhead tugging on Cas’ rim, but then he would lower himself back down just as slowly.  Dean was experiencing the kind of teasing pleasure that required one to thrash around in order to endure it.  But he had to stay still.  He had to serve his role as Castiel’s personal fuck toy.  Dean groaned lowly and pulled on the headboard until it creaked.

“Dean, raise one of your knees, plant your foot, and shift your hips just a bit.  Then stay there.”

Dean obeyed and Castiel moaned and picked up his pace the slightest bit as the angle of Dean’s entry changed.

“Oh, that’s it.  Good boy.  God, you are so fucking _hard_.  Does it feel good, Dean?  Being inside me?”

“Cas!” Dean gasped, not able to get out anything else.

Castiel just smiled languidly, but smugly.  “Yeah, does it make you want to call me baby again?”

Dean’s brain wasn’t really aware of anything but the tight, tight slippery glide of Castiel’s body around his cock, but something did ping somewhere that he should be concerned about something.  But fuck whatever that was because he was spiraling toward orgasm or toward death, he didn’t care which at this point to be honest.

In the classes he’d had to take at Sweet Things, it had been explained that “dominant” and “top” were not synonyms, just like “submissive” and “bottom” were not.  At the time Dean had thought that meant when a dominant or submissive was engaging in sex without the d/s dynamics that they could be a top or bottom.  Now, he understood what they had meant.  He never would have believed that he could be the one doing the penetrating and still be the submissive, but he was firmly and absolutely under Castiel’s control and he wasn’t sure which part felt better: being inside Cas or being controlled by him.

Castiel sped up again, circling his hips around and around on each upstroke and each downstroke.  Dean’s fingers gripped the headboard to the point of pain, his toes curled so much they started to cramp, every muscle in his body was locked and fighting against the need to move and grab and take and fuck.

“Gonna come in me, Dean?” Castiel panted.

“Yes, yes, yes…”

“Do it, honey, whenever you’re ready.  Fill me up.  Let me feel you.”

Dean bit back a moan, his entire body tensed, and he squeezed his eyes shut as he came in strong bursts as Castiel continued to fuck him.  When he went lax, a moan of relief escaping his lips, Castiel sat down in his lap and started stripping his cock furiously.  He came a few moments later, covering Dean’s chest with large splashes of warm spend.  Castiel shook slightly with his pleasure, letting out small, breathy laughs as he lazily circled his hips on Dean’s flagging dick.  When he finally came to a stop, his head was tipped back and his eyes were closed.

“That felt good.  I really needed that.”

“Happy to help,” Dean said tiredly, peeling his fingers off the headboard gingerly, struggling slightly to get them to flex open again.  Fortunately his toes had relaxed and the rest of his muscles jumped with tension, but didn’t seem to be in imminent danger of seizing up on him.  Castiel opened his eyes and dropped his head forward.  He grinned at Dean.

“I finally let you get away with calling me Cas, and now you’re starting to call me baby.  You like my punishments that much?”

“You called me honey,” Dean retorted, brain not quite ready for witty repartee.

“I…I did not…”

“You most certainly did.”

“Oh.”

“ _Oh_ ,” Dean mimicked.

Castiel moved and Dean slipped out of him.  That meant his come was probably running out of his hole right now.  Dean had to close his eyes against the wave of arousal that sent through his tired body.

“You okay?” Castiel asked, curling against him and laying his head on his shoulder.

“Yeah, yeah, fine.  Just…that was a first for me.”

“Topping?  Surely you’ve had sex with women before.”

“I have.  I meant, subbing while topping.  It was… _awesome_.”

“You liked it?”

“Yes.”

“Want to do it again?”

“Yes.  Not now, but…in a bit…”

Dean turned his head to bury his nose in Castiel’s hair, his arm curling up around his shoulders.

“I liked it, but it’s not better than feeling you fuck me.”

Castiel chuckled.  “Penetration really is a kink for you.”

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled sleepily.  He kissed Cas’ crown.  “Are you okay?”

Castiel turned more and wrapped an arm around Dean’s torso, burrowing himself into Dean’s side.

“I am now.  And…I was then.  Thank you.  For not leaving me.”

 _Never_.

Dean wouldn’t let himself say the word aloud, but he moved his hand from Castiel’s shoulder to his head, and tucked him in firmly against his neck.  His eyelids were so heavy that he decided a quick nap wouldn’t hurt.  Besides, Castiel was so soft and warm and comfortable and it would be a shame to move him.  It was best if he just stayed right here…

Dean woke up to a dark room.  He was a little disoriented, but not afraid.  He recognized the lump next to him as Castiel.  He was still curled up right next to him, arm around Dean even though Dean’s arm had fallen slack to the side.  He was far enough up on his shoulder that there was no discomfort in the limb from circulation issues.  He really had no reason to get up, except if the lights in the apartment were off, that meant that the timer had turned them off for the night.  Which meant he really wasn’t supposed to be here.  He shifted barely an inch before Castiel’s arm tightened around him and he grunted crossly.

“Cas, my shift is over.”

“Shut up and go to sleep,” Cas mumbled.

“Yes, sir.”

Dean relaxed back into the bed and figured they could worry about this in the morning.

When the morning came Dean felt rested, but also a little groggy since he had slept for about sixteen or seventeen hours.  Cas still appeared to be dead to the world.  The light of Castiel’s artificial sunrise filled the room, but was not at full brightness yet, so Dean knew it was before eight o’clock.  Technically, his Friday shift hadn’t started yet.  He’d spent the night with Castiel off duty.  He was still in his collar though, so he had that rationality to cling to, but it was flimsy and he knew it.  So he ignored it.

He tried to slide out from under Castiel, but once again he octopussed Dean, throwing a leg into the routine this time.

“Don’t go,” he grumbled.

“Cas, if you don’t let me up I’m going to piss the bed.”

Castiel immediately let go of everything and rolled off of him.  Dean chuckled and got out of bed and hurried to the bathroom.  He had a full thirty second pee that felt amazing.  His plan to slide back into the warm bed was thwarted when his stomach growled.  He announced to Cas that he was going to the kitchen to make a huge Sunday morning style breakfast and he could join him or not if he could get himself out of bed.

Castiel appeared rumpled and dressed in nothing but boxers just as Dean was pulling the biscuits out of the oven.  He waved off his cursory offer of help and piled their plates high with scrambled eggs, thick cream of wheat, sausage and bacon (because Cas was still buying the precooked links and it really wasn’t any effort to pop them in the microwave), and a biscuit.  He carried the plates to the table and then went back to the kitchen for the butter, jelly, and honey.  Dean sat down and starting shoveling the food into his mouth, too hungry to care if Castiel would make him pay for being “uncouth” later.  It took him several bites before he noticed Castiel wasn’t eating.  Dean paused, had to chew for a few moments before he could swallow, and then spoke.

“You okay, Cas?  Are you not hungry?”

“Are you mad at me?”

"For what?”

“Making you stay last night.”

Dean could have answered that with a joke or with a long winded “you didn’t make me do anything” speech, but he opted to simply make eye contact and say, “No,” with plenty of “don’t be ridiculous” in his tone.

Castiel smiled and then put his hands on the table.  He held Dean’s phone.  He pushed it over to him.

“We left this in the office.  You have a message from Sam.  If he’s in trouble, I—”

Dean waved him off.  “He’s fine.  He’s just worried I didn’t leave him a message telling him I wasn’t coming home.”

He picked up the phone and connected to his voicemail, putting it on speaker for Cas to hear.

“Dean!  It’s almost midnight and you aren’t home and you didn’t call.  You better call me first thing in the morning and tell me you’re okay or I’m calling 911.  You know, it’s not fair that you can run off and have fun and do whatever, but I have to report in.  I mean, I get that you’re an ‘adult’ and I’m a ‘kid’ but that’s stupid reasoning.  Anyway, call me.  Bye.”

Dean smiled at the message and then looked at Cas.  “See?  No biggie.”

Dean pushed the button to call Sam and Castiel picked up his fork and began eating.

“Dude!” Sam’s voice shouted through the phone loud enough that Cas could probably hear it.  “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine.  I’m sorry I didn’t call.  I stayed after work with a coworker and we, uh, kind of lost track of time.”

“Oh my God.  You didn’t call because you were getting laid?”

“You say that like it’s not a valid excuse.”

“So, if I don’t come home one night and don’t show up until the next morning, I won’t get in trouble so long as I was having sex?”

“Yeah, sure,” Dean said, biting into a sausage link.

“For real?”

“Yeah.  I mean, there’s no way Jess is giving it up to you anytime soon, so sure!  Stay out all night without calling all you like.  But only if you’re having sex.  And with yourself doesn’t count.”

“ _Dean_.”

“Yes?”

“Are you coming home?”

“Mm, well, I have to go to work at eight, but I’ll be off at four and I’ll come home then.”

“Okay.  Hey…was it the coworker who gave you the hickeys before?”

Dean glanced at Cas, wondering if he could still hear Sam’s side of the conversation.

“Uh, yep.  Same one.”

“So…is it getting serious?”

“Don’t you have some milkshakes you need to get to?”

“Not for like four hours.  But, fine, don’t tell me.  Just don’t get fired over her.”

“I’ll try.  Later, bitch.”

Sam gasped in offense.  “You are such a j—”

Dean turned off the phone and set it down so he could return to eating.  He glanced at Cas, and then did a double take.

“What?”

The man had a soft smile on his face as he looked at Dean.

“You won’t want to hear it.”

“Don’t say stuff like that!  Now, not knowing will be worse.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Just tell me.”

“Fine.”  Castiel looked down at his plate and played with a piece of bacon.  “I think you make a good father.”

Dean could feel the blush on his cheeks spreading and spreading until the tips of his ears burned and he felt warm all over.

“Um.  Th-thanks,” he stuttered.

Castiel smiled shyly at him and then went back to his breakfast.  Dean’s stomach was fluttering so wildly he couldn’t eat anymore.  For about thirty seconds.  Then the buttery biscuit was calling out to him to slather it in honey.  By the time they were cleaning the dishes, honey was slathered on a lot more things.

Castiel banished Dean from the office because he hadn’t gotten the work done yesterday that he needed to and he didn’t want any distractions.  Dean sat on the couch and finished _The Power and the Glory_.  He knew that he had enjoyed it, but he couldn’t articulate why.  It had been a real departure from anything he’d ever read before, but he was moved by the ending.  Since Cas wasn’t around to give him a new reading assignment, he went to the bedroom and watched television until his shift was over.

He was dressed and on his way out the door when Castiel called out to him.  He turned back and Castiel leaned over the threshold to kiss him.

“Thank you again.  For yesterday.”

Dean shrugged.  “No problem.”  Perhaps that wasn’t the best response, but it’s all he could manage.  Then he smiled at Cas.  “Hey, look at you.  Outside your apartment.”  He gave Cas a wink.

The man realized his head was completely over the threshold and pulled it back quickly.

“See you tomorrow, Dean.”

“Bye, Cas.”

~~~

Without any more fire alarms to disturb the peace, the following weeks were a mixture of kinky sex, relatively tame role playing, lazy afternoon reading sessions, both successful and unsuccessful experimentation in the kitchen, and a very serious discussion about whether or not they should watch the reboot of _Battlestar Galactica_.  Every day, Castiel would kiss Dean goodbye (after his shift was over and the collar was off) and Dean would wrap his arms around his waist and pull him partially out the door before the man started squirming and wriggled his way back inside.  Sometimes Dean didn’t bother trying to pull him out.  It was more fun to simply hold him and kiss him and let his tongue do that thing where it flicked teasingly into his mouth, over and over until he all he wanted was to step back into the condo and take Cas to bed again.

It was a Monday, and they had had a long day in the playroom with a scene involving a gag, so they were a little kiss starved.  They stood at the door kissing goodbye, and Dean knew it had to be getting closer to 4:30 than to 4:00 and maybe he should just ask if they could go back inside and make out on the couch for a while.

He heard a girlish giggle, and pulled back slightly.  Cas’ lips were pink and kiss-swollen, his eyelids hooded, and his cheeks flushed.  He looked sexy as hell.

“Was that you?” Dean asked.

“That was me!” the girl giggled again.

Dean whipped around and saw Jess standing in her open door.  And right next to her—

“Dean?” Sam asked.

Jess looked back and forth between them.  “This is your brother?”

“Um, yeah…”

“I thought he was just Mr. Novak’s caretaker.  But, I guess you’re a little bit more than that…” she trailed off, giggling again and hiding her red face behind one hand.

Dean hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of Sam and words were not an option.

“So, um,” Sam started, “how about if you don’t give me shit for not telling you I was going over to a friend’s house after work, I won’t give you shit for skipping work _and_ not telling me you’re dating someone.”

“Uh…yeah.  Let’s do that.”

“Okay.  This is great actually.  Now you can give me a ride home and I don’t have to take the bus.”

Sam leaned slightly to the left so he could see Cas.

“Hi.  I’m the brother.  He probably hasn’t even mentioned me, has he?”

Castiel’s jaw moved, but words eluded him.

“Knew it,” Sam sighed dramatically.

Dean glowered at him for pestering Cas.  “Aren’t you gonna kiss your girlfriend goodbye?”

“Yeah, Sam,” Jess said.

Dean smirked as Sam’s eyes widened and he went scarlet.

“Um.  I, yeah, um.  No?”

Jess laughed and put an arm around his shoulder, and then kissed him on the cheek.  “Don’t worry.  You’ll be S-A-F one day.”

Sam dropped his face into his hands.  Jess smiled and waved at Dean and Cas.

“Bye, Mr. Novak.”

“Um,” Cas replied.  He had his hand up awkwardly, and then curled his fingers down.

Dean nodded his head toward the inside.  “Just go.”

Castiel ducked back inside and slammed the door shut.  Dean laughed softly and then nudged his brother’s shoulder.

“Come on, spaz.  You want a ride or not?”

Sam started walking with him, looking embarrassed, but also giddy.

“She’s that great, huh?” Dean asked.

“Like the kinda great that you think you shouldn’t feel in high school but like…I like her so much, Dean.”

Dean grinned.  “Good for you.  You got lucky, man.”  He pushed the call button for the elevator.

“So…is that the coworker?  That you’ve been hanging out with?”

“Uh…yeah.  His name is Cas.”

“So when did you meet him?”

“Well…I mean, we’ve worked together for three and a half months now, but I guess…things changed…a few weeks ago?”

“Were you ever going to tell me?  Or was I not going to find out until you’d broken up and found out the paternity test was negative like with Lisa?”

Dean winced and held the elevator door open for his brother.

“Yeah, sorry about that.  This is just one of those things like…we’re not really going out.  It’s, um, you know…”

“Complicated?”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.  He looks older.  So, like is he the boss?  Isn’t it dangerous to screw the boss?”

“All relationships have inherent risk.”

“Okay, thanks for that, Dear Abbey.”

“Do you want to ride the bus home?”

“No.”

The elevator arrived in the garage and Dean led them over to the Dart.  They were inside with seatbelts fastened before Dean couldn’t take it anymore and turned to Sam.

“So.  I mean, you did notice…”

“Notice what?”

“That he’s a…guy.”

“Yeah, so?  Oh, right.  You’re worried about Dad.  You know honestly, I don’t think he’d care all that much.  Remember how long he thought Bobby and his friend, what was his name?  The cranky black guy...?”

“Rufus?”

“Yeah, Rufus.  Remember how Dad thought they were a couple for years?  He didn’t care.”

“Right.  So, uh, _you_ don’t care?”

“Why would I care?  I mean, yeah I was a little surprised.  I always thought you liked only girls.  But when I saw you kissing a dude—”

Dean put a hand to his face.  Oh, God.  His little brother had seen him making out with Cas.

“—it wasn’t weird.  Just like, new information.”

Dean laughed, his nervous energy dispelling slightly.  “I guess it’s less of a shock for your generation.”

“No, just more like your obsession with Dr. Sexy makes so much more sense now.”

“Shut up,” Dean said and started the car.  He drove them to the exit and while they waited for the door to rise he asked, “What does S-A-F mean?”

“Oh, uh.”  Sam laughed giddily.  “Smooth as fuck.”

Dean rolled his eyes.  Kids were so stupid.  “Man, I thought she had you wrapped around her finger, but she’s gotta be pretty far gone too if she thinks one day you won’t be a giant dork.”

“You know what?  I’m ignoring the insult and taking away that she’s into me.”

Dean smiled and ruffled Sam’s hair.  He pulled out into traffic feeling the urge to whistle.  He was happy again.  He was good, Sam was good, and Castiel was…getting better.  _Life_ was finally good.

Until Wednesday morning.


	12. Chapter 12

The phone started ringing, jolting Dean out of sleep.  He twitched around his bed, searching for his cell phone until he realized it was the landline.  Grumbling he got out of bed and walked toward the kitchen.  The caller must be really persistent if he was letting the phone ring this long at—Dean yawned and checked the time on the microwave.  He made a face and picked up the phone.

“It is five-thirty in the morning!  If you’re a telemarketer—”

“Dean.”

Dean stopped his tirade.  “Hey.  Dad.  So, I don’t know if you know, but it’s 5:30 in the morning.”

“Yeah…I know.”

“Where are you?  Do you need me to pick you up?”

“No…but I do need you to come down to the station.”

“Which one?” Dean asked dryly.  His father could be in Tijuana for all he knew.

“Huntsville.”

Dean sighed.  “What is it this time?  Another DUI?  Indecent exposure?  Resisting arrest?  Grand theft au—”

“ _Dean_.  Please come down to the station.  Don’t bring Sam.”

“Like I would bring Sam,” Dean muttered.  “Alright.  I’ll be there in twenty.”

About thirty minutes later, Dean was sitting on an uncomfortable metal bench in the lobby of the Huntsville Police Department, trying not to fall asleep.  He hoped whatever this was wouldn’t make him late for work.  Maybe he should go ahead and text Cas that he might be late just to give him plenty of warning.  He’d just finished hitting send when the news on the old tube-TV mounted in the corner of the room caught his attention.

A reporter was standing outside on a sidewalk talking seriously into her microphone.  The headline along the bottom said, “Suspect taken into custody late Tuesday night.”  The pictures of the kid and the mom that had gone missing months ago were flashed on the screen.  Dean blinked sleepily.  About time they caught the guy.  Then the screen flashed to the cops leading a man in handcuffs to the back of a squad car.

Dean rubbed his eyes and looked again.  No…

The headline changed to, “John Winchester arrested on suspicion of double homicide.”

Dean stared at the screen.  This was not happening.  He got up and walked over to the front desk where a secretary and a cop were talking idly and sipping coffee.

“Hi, um, I need to speak with someone.”

“Yes, hon, I spoke to you earlier,” the secretary said.  “Someone will be with you in a minute.”

“Um, someone needs to be with me now.  I came here to get my dad out of the drunk tank, but apparently he’s being charged with murder?  What the fuck is going on?”

“Sir, I’m not authorized to speak about that.  You’ll have to wait on an officer to help you.”

“You’re an officer,” Dean said to the cop.

“I’m off duty.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“Hey!” the cop snapped.  “Watch your tone.  Now sit down and wait until someone can help you, or we’ll find you a place to sit.  Got it?”

Dean gnashed his teeth but returned to the bench.  Over the next three hours he sat and paced and accosted every new person who approached the front desk for information.  He tried pleading, he tried flirting with the coffee girl, he tried shouting, but all he got was shut up in an interview room.  Which he supposed it could have been worse; they could have put him in a cell.

He paced the room with his cell phone in hand, tempted to call Bobby.  Dean had had the responsibilities of an adult laid on him most of his life, but this was beyond his ken.  He wanted someone to take care of this for him.  He wanted someone else to have to deal with his father.  He wanted his father not to be a goddamned murderer.

“Oh, fuck,” Dean muttered, leaning over and placing his hands on the table.  He inhaled slowly, trying to dispel the sudden rush of nausea that had come upon him.  He didn’t know if he could do this.  Maybe he should call Grandpa Samuel?  But shit, that would probably make things a lot worse.

The doorknob rattled and Dean stood up, fear curling cold and heavy in his stomach.  The door opened and a man not in uniform and with a severe haircut entered the room.  He offered Dean a hand and he shook it because he was on autopilot.

“Hello.  I’m Detective Bartholomew and I’m in charge of the Milligan case.”

“The what?”

“The Milligan case.  Kate and Adam Milligan went missing in early April.  Their bodies were found mutilated and stuffed into a crypt at Stovall Cemetery.  That’s what you’re here to talk about, right?”

“Um, no, I was looking for my father.”

The man sighed.  “They said you’d had information about the case.  You’re going to have to talk to the front desk and file a missing person report.  Have a good day.”

“No, wait!  He’s not missing.  He’s here.  He’s been arrested for those murders.  He called me this morning.  I’ve been here since six in the morning trying to get anybody to give me some information or to let me see him.  Now, someone needs to tell me what the hell is going on!  My dad is not a murderer.  This makes no sense.  What evidence do you have?”

“You’re John Winchester’s son?”

Dean felt ready to strangle somebody.  Is that all he had gotten from that?

“Yes.  I’m John Winchester’s son.”

“Hm.  We thought he was a minor.  Child Protective Services is on their way to pick you up.  Guess we can call them off.”

“Wait, what?!  Child Pro—what are you talking about?  Are there people taking Sam?!”

“Yes, Samuel Winchester.  Who are you?”

“Dean.  His oldest son.  I take care of Sam.”

“Not legally.”

“What?”

“John Winchester is his legal guardian.  He’s being held here until arraignment, which won’t be for a couple days, and I can tell you now he will _not_ be granted bail.  So, since the kid is a minor, he has to go to foster care.”

“This is fucking insane!  You can’t take my brother away!  I’m an adult!  The apartment we live in is leased in my name!  I can take care of him.”

“I’m sure you can, but you’ll have to file an appeal with family court.”

“What gives you people the right to arrest an innocent man and throw a kid in foster care?!”

“Son, I suggest you calm down.  We had probable cause to arrest your father.  Your brother is a minor and has to be taken care of by the state since he has no other legal guardian.  Now.  They’re probably on their way to get him now, so it would be best if you went home so you can talk to him and find out who his case worker is so that you can begin your appeal.”

“But what about my dad?  Can’t I at least see him?”

“He’s being interviewed by us right now.  The only person who can see him is his lawyer.  You probably won’t be able to get in to see him until after the arraignment.  Honestly, it may only take a day.  We’re getting a lot of pressure to get this case moving.”

“A lot of pressure?  So much so that you arrested an innocent man?  Just some drunk you found on a sidewalk that no one will care about or miss?”

“Hey,” Detective Bartholomew warned, putting out a hand.  “We have evidence against him, that’s why we arrested him.  At least you’re not completely oblivious to his vices.  Perhaps that will make everything be less of a shock once you’ve had a chance to process it.”

“So, all alcoholics are criminals?  Good to know ‘innocent until proven guilty’ is alive and well at the Huntsville PD,” Dean said sarcastically.

Detective Bartholomew just gave him a look as he opened the door to leave.  “You should go check on your brother.”

“Fuck!” Dean yelled when the door closed.  Then he burst into action and ran out of the station.  He sped all the way home and kind of hoped a cop would try to pull him over just so he could gun it and flick the guy off.  Not that the Dart could outrun a police cruiser.  He illegally parked in front of the building and took the stairs two at a time.  He jogged down the hall, his heart seizing up brutally when he saw the open door to their apartment.  He burst inside and a black man and a Hispanic woman turned toward him in alarm.

“Who the fuck are you?!” Dean shouted.

“We’re—”

“Dean!”  Sam ran from the hall, past the couple, and threw himself at Dean, the backpack over his shoulder sliding down his arm and hitting Dean in the back of the legs.  Dean caught him a little awkwardly, he was a little too tall for this, but he kept an arm around his shoulders and glared at the two dicks with clipboards.

“You’re trespassing in my home.  Leave.”

“And you are?”

“I’m Dean Winchester.  This is my apartment.  My name is on the lease.  I’m Sam’s brother.  I’m twenty-three years old and I can take care of him.”

“Dean, I’m Maria Hernandez and this is Dan Billings.  We’re—”

“I don’t care who you are.  Get out.”

The woman pursed her lips and the man continued.

“We’re from Child Protective Services.  Your father was arrested this morning—”

“They keep saying that,” Sam said.  “What do they mean?  For what?  A DUI?  Who cares?”

“Shh, Sammy.  Look, I know what happened, but kids only go to foster care when they don’t have anyone who can take care of them.  I can take care of him.”

“No one is questioning that,” the man said.  “But, you’re not his legal guardian.  And the court can’t release him to a non-guardian until the case has been reviewed.  Until then, we have to take custody of the minor.”

“The minor is right here and I’m not going anywhere!” Sam shouted.

“Look,” Maria said, sounding much less understanding than she had a minute ago.  “These situations aren’t easy for anybody, but there are laws that have to be obeyed.  Your brother could wind up in jail with your father if he tries to prevent us from taking you.”

Sam shrank back.

“Now, we can provide your brother with the paperwork he’ll need to file the appeal and request temporary guardianship, but it will have to go through the court.  Do you both understand?”

Dean nodded and Sam looked at him with a betrayed look on his face.

“It’s just for a few days, Sammy.  You can deal.  I’ll fill out the paperwork and you’ll be back here by the end of the week.”

Sam gathered himself up and slung the backpack over his shoulder.

“You have everything you need?” Dan asked.

Sam nodded.  The social workers handed Dean a file with the paperwork he would need to file with Sam’s case number printed on the top.  Sam hesitated by the door.

“What’s going on with Dad?”

Dean shook his head.  “They think he killed that kid and his mom who went missing.”

Sam swallowed.  “Do you think he did?”

“What?  No!  Come on, Sam!”

Sam shrugged.

“Sam?” Maria called from the stairwell.

“Just hang tight, alright?  You have your cell phone?  Text me the address they send you to and I’ll come see you tonight, okay?”

Sam nodded.  “This sucks.”

“Yeah, it does.”

~~~

It was Saturday, and Sam wasn’t home.  Dean hadn’t even filed the paperwork.  He had an apartment and he had an income, but he had to provide documentation of his employment.  He wasn’t sure Cas could give him that.  On top of that, what did they say?  He provided home services?  He supposed he could go beg Crowley for a proof of employment letter, but then it would have to go on record that he was a stripper.  He didn’t know if the courts would consider that a job (or him a person) that was good enough to take care of a minor.

He considered trying to find a minimum wage job quickly, but then he probably wouldn’t make enough to meet the minimum threshold for monthly income to support a child.  He’d lied to Sam and told him that he was working on it, but the system was slow.  What would happen if his father’s case went to trial for a year or two?  Was he going to leave Sam in foster care until he graduated high school?  He’d been put with a decent family who were very understanding about letting Dean visit, but Sam wasn’t happy about it.  Neither was Dean, but he just didn’t know what to do.

On top of failing Sam, he still hadn’t been able to talk to his father.  He’d finally been arraigned on Friday afternoon, and then been promptly denied bail because of his existing record.  But the station wouldn’t let Dean see him because they said it was too late in the day.  So, now he was sitting in the public defender’s office, waiting for his father’s court appointed lawyer to meet him so that they could go to the jail together.  He rubbed his head and tried to ignore the looks from all the gossipy secretaries.  The building also housed the offices for the district attorney who would be prosecuting his father, and everyone knew who he was.

“Well, well, hello, Michael.”

Dean’s head snapped up.  He stared, disbelieving as Zachariah approached him wearing an expensive suit and holding a black briefcase.

“Or should I say, Dean Winchester?  Son of a sick murderer.”

Dean clenched his jaw and bit back his words.  The man stood in front of him, looking down at him with scorn.

“I still can’t believe how haughty you were.  Your whole family is nothing but degenerates.”

Dean looked at the floor and bit the insides of his cheeks.  Zachariah was a pompous ass who didn’t know what he was talking about.  He was a sick fuck who had to pay people to pretend they were interested in him and then wanted to take them home and keep them like pets.  Dean flinched.  And what, wear collars and sit at his feet and eat out of his hands?  The guy was right.  Dean had been way too haughty thinking he was above Zachariah.

“Looks like I dodged a bullet,” Zachariah sneered.

Dean looked up and the man looked at him with contempt and worse, pity.  Then he walked away and Dean put his head in his hands.  He drew in a deep, shuddery breath and focused on calming down.  He was not going to start crying.  He refused.

He was still hunched over on the bench when his cell phone rang.  It was probably Sam, asking for an update.  He didn’t know if he could bear to lie to him again.  But he also couldn’t ignore him.  He pulled out his phone and was surprised to see Castiel’s name flashing on the screen.  He hesitated.  These parts of his life really shouldn’t overlap…but when was the last time he had even spoken to Cas?  After he’d texted him on Wednesday morning, he didn’t think he’d called or messaged him with any other news.  He sighed and swiped the screen to accept the call.

“Hey, Cas.”

“Dean.”  There was an audible sigh of relief.  “I’m glad I got a hold of you.  I haven’t heard from you in several days.”

“Yeah, I know,” Dean said, suddenly annoyed.  “Breach of contract.  But in case you haven’t seen the news, I’ve been preoccupied.”

“I…I did see the news.  That’s why I didn’t call sooner.  I didn’t want to bother you.  But…I just wanted to see if you were okay or needed my help.”

“Needed your help?  Cas, you can’t even fucking deal with a bug in your apartment.  How are you going to deal with something happening in the real world?  Look, I’m sorry I’ve disrupted your schedule, but I can’t do anything about it right now and I can’t give you an estimate of when my problems won’t be an inconvenience for you anymore.”

“D-Dean…”

“Just deal with it, Castiel.  Okay?  I know it’s the ‘outside world’ and you don’t want it in your bubble, but you can’t insulate yourself from everything.  So deal with it.  And try not to wet the bed.”

Dean ended the phone call.  And then bent over as a wave of guilt and shame washed over him.  Why the fuck was he taking this out on Cas?  Just hearing his voice say his name had given him some small measure of comfort.  And now he’d shit all over him and marginalized his phobias.  He had to be the most spiteful, juvenile asshole on the planet.

Someone cleared their throat awkwardly and Dean lifted his head, wiping away the errant tear that had escaped his eye.  A short, squat, unkempt looking man was standing in front of him.

“Mr. Winchester?  I’m Marv.  I’ve been assigned to your father’s—oh!”  He flailed as some messily stacked papers started to slip out of his grasp.  He got them under control and finished, “Case.  Shall we go down to the station?”

Dean looked at his phone.  Cas hadn’t tried to call him back and there was no text message.  Clearly he had nothing else to say to Dean after that.

“Yeah, sure,” Dean said numbly.

Dean didn’t know how it was possible, but Marv Engelmann owned an even crappier car than he did.  A ’64 yellow Gremlin that sputtered and coughed and almost died twice on the ten minute drive to the police station.  When they got there they were summarily ignored for twenty minutes until Dean got fed up and demanded they be allowed to see his father.  He threw out words like lawyer and constitutional rights and lawsuit and even though he didn’t really know what he was talking about, it got them seated in a windowless room waiting for John to be brought in.

When he arrived, looking bleak and hollow and scruffy, Dean couldn’t stop himself from getting to his feet and hugging his father.  The man hugged him back tightly, almost clingingly.  He didn’t smell, so he must have been showering in the jail bathrooms, but his whole body was trembling.  Dean suspected it wasn’t from anxiety or happiness to see him, but from withdrawal.

“Mr. Winchester,” Marv said, sounding annoyed, “I have another meeting at one, so we really should get started.”

“This guy is a putz, isn’t he?” Dean whispered near his father’s ear.

His father attempted a chuckle.  “Get what you pay for, I guess.”

They separated and took a seat at the small table.  Marv shuffled through some papers, then appeared to stop looking for whatever he might have been looking for.

“Okay.  So, you killed a single mother and her son—”

“Whoa, whoa, what the fuck?!” Dean shouted.  “He didn’t do it!”

“Yes, yes.  But that’s what the police think and that’s the rap we’re trying to beat.”

“At least use the term allegedly,” Dean grumbled.  “You say shit like that in front of a jury and that’s all they hear.”

“Thank you for your legal opinion.  What law school did you attend again?”

Dean clenched his hand into a fist and John put a hand on his shoulder.

“Now, as I was _saying_ ,” Marv said with a pointed look at Dean.  “They think you’ve killed these two people, but the burden of proof is on them.  So, all we have to do is find something that will cast reasonable doubt on the whole thing and we should be good to go.”

“Should be?” John asked caustically.

“Why are we even thinking about going to a trial phase?” Dean interjected.  “Shouldn’t we be able to get him cleared before we get there?  He didn’t do it.  What physical proof is there?”

“Well, the coroner found some tissue underneath the woman’s nails that is probably from her attacker.  But, Huntsville doesn’t have its own forensics lab, so they had to outsource it to a different police department.  It’ll probably be a few weeks before we get the results.”

“A few _weeks_?” Dean asked incredulously.

“Yes.  Which is why, since we have the time, we should work on establishing your alibi.”

“Are there any other suspects at all?” Dean asked.

“I don’t know.  Your father is my client.”

Dean dug his nails into his thighs and counted to five.  “Well, if there are other suspects, wouldn’t that help you with establishing reasonable doubt?”

“Hm.  Good point.  I’ll look into it.”

Marv began to scribble something down on a random sheet of paper and Dean turned wide eyes on his father.  The man kind of shrugged and slumped forward in a defeated manner.  Dean swiped a hand down his face.

“Look, I don’t even understand why he was arrested at all.  He wasn’t found near the bodies.  He wasn’t in possession of the murder weapon, whatever it was.  There’s no definitive physical evidence linking him to the crime because they haven’t tested any of it yet.  He has no connection to these people at all.  Why was he pulled out of thin air?  Just because he was passed out on a sidewalk somewhere?”

Dean sent an apologetic look to his father, but John was looking very intently at the table.

“Well, he’s not wholly unconnected,” Marv said with humor.

Dean looked at him.  “What do you mean?”

“The police have phone records indicating that he was in contact with the woman for years.  Then there were SMS messages recovered that showed that she was pestering him for money.  That establishes a connection and a motive.”

“What, just for money?  That’s flimsy.  Dad, did you know this woman?”

John was still looking at the table and Marv let out a scoffing laugh.

“You don’t know?  Your father knew this woman.  _Intimately_ , if you catch my drift.”

Dean flushed a little.  His father was a grown man and Mary had died almost thirteen years ago.  He wasn’t so naïve as to think that his father never sought companionship or sex with another person, but he didn’t want to have to think about it.

“S-so?” Dean asked shakily.  “He’s probably known a lot of women intimately.”

“The woman’s son, the ten year old boy that was also killed…he’s the father.”

Dean stared at Marv uncomprehendingly.  He dredged up memories of what these people looked like.  Kate and Adam Milligan.  He’d never heard the names.  He’d never met them in person.  He looked at his father, who was still staring at the fucking table.

“Is it true?” Dean asked hoarsely.

John finally looked up.  “I didn’t do it.”

Dean felt dizzy.  Maybe because he’d stood up when the blood was draining from his brain.  He bumped into the wall.

“Dean…”

“You have…I…I have to go.”

“Dean!  Dean, wait!”

Dean threw open the door and the officer standing guard startled and put his hand to his gun.  Dean ran past him.

“Dean, I didn’t do it!”

Dean made it outside the station, but his brain was still fuzzy.  He tried to piece together the information that was slamming around in his head like cars in a demolition derby.

His father had been extremely erratic the last couple of months.

His father had gone missing for days, weeks at a time; Dean couldn’t verify his whereabouts for more than a handful of days.

His father had been morbidly morose.

His father had been with another woman.

His father had a third son.

He, Dean, had a half-brother he’d never known about.  A half-brother that was now dead.

After his father had been pestered for money by the boy’s mother.

Dean squatted down on the sidewalk and breathed deeply.  A lot of people asked his father for money.  He certainly had never killed any of them.  At least, not to his knowledge.  Dean let out an angry, confused, frustrated growl and got to his feet again.  He started walking toward the Roadhouse.  Maybe it was time to break his ban on drinking.

Not only was his father potentially a murderer of his own son, Sam was in foster care because he couldn’t tell the court he could afford to take care of him because he let a whack job slap him around and cover him in jizz for money.  And whack job or not, Cas hadn’t deserved to be insulted that way when Dean had yelled at him on the phone.  Yeah, he deserved a drink, but the last thing he wanted was to explain any of this to Ellen or Jo.  They had to have seen the news, they must know some of it.  Maybe they had told Bobby.  He hadn’t heard from him.  Had Bobby been so disgusted by the whole Winchester family that he hadn’t even wanted to deal with it?  Had he abandoned Dean and Sam?

Dean took another swig from the bottle of Jack in his hand.  He didn’t remember going to the liquor store, he didn’t remember paying for it, and he certainly didn’t remember how he was already halfway through it.  He did remember another reason why he had stopped drinking: he was a sad drunk.  Nobody liked sad drunks.

How had everything gotten so fucked up?  He couldn’t blame it all on his father.  He knew the man needed help and he just sat back and let him muddle through, hoping he would come to the conclusion that he needed help on his own.  He’d known how self-destructive his father was, and he’d never bothered to file for guardianship of Sam back when he had a “respectable” job, like construction.  He’d seen how his father took his sadness and anger out on other people, vowed to never be like him, and then treated Castiel like he was some sort of weirdo deviant that Dean was forced to interact with.  Well, he couldn’t do anything about his father, and he was too chicken shit to help Sam, but he could apologize to Cas.  That much he could do.

Dean clambered to his feet, wobbling unsteadily.  As he stepped forward he kicked an empty bottle.  Was he on his second?  Was it night?  He walked along the sidewalks of Huntsville.  He had to get downtown.  Maybe a taxi would help, but he wasn’t sure if he had his wallet.  When he dropped the bottle in his hand, it shattered, but there was no liquid on the ground.  At least he hadn’t wasted any.  Stopping to look at the shards got him to look at his surroundings.  He knew this building.  He banged on the glass door until he remembered he was supposed to do something.  He pulled the card key out of his wallet and waved it at the door.  He stumbled into the cool interior and slumped against the wall of the elevator.  He dozed for a moment, and then remembered to push the button for the top floor.

“Fuck,” Dean grumbled as he’d been walking down Castiel’s hall for three hours, at least.  Why was it so damn long?  He looked back and forth between two doors.  He took a guess and started pounding on one.

“Cas!  Caaaaaaas!  M’here ta ‘pologize.  M’a asshole.”  He pounded on the door harder.  “Com’on!  Know you’re in there.  Not like you can,” he hiccupped and then burped.  “Leave.”

Dean groaned and leaned against the door.  He wasn’t feeling so good.  The feeling was made worse when he fell forward.  His wall was gone.

“Dean?!”

He recognized that voice.

“Cas,” Dean smiled, his hands grasping at anything.  “Gonna call you baby.  ‘Cause you’re my baby.  Should’n’tve yelled.”

“Dean, are you okay?”

Dean tried very hard to process that question.

“No?” he answered, and then puked.

He kept heaving and heaving.  His stomach cramped and he was having a hard time breathing.  His head hurt and the hands on his forehead felt incredibly cool and soothing on his clammy skin.

“Dean?” Castiel’s voice came from down a long tunnel.

Dean closed his eyes and concentrated on breathing.  Just breathe…

~~~

Dean achieved consciousness in stages.  First, he was aware that he was awake even though his eyes were closed.  Second, he heard a steady beeping sound.  Third, he could tell that he was in a bed that was smaller but more comfortable than his own.  Fourth, the air smelled funny.

Dean opened his eyes, blinking against the dim lights.  It took him a moment to take in his surroundings and realize he was in a hospital room.  He looked at his arm.  There was a pulse and oxygen level sensor on his left index finger and an IV in his vein.  He turned his head back and it was an effort to do so.  He felt beaten and drained; more tired than he’d ever felt in his life.  His body was sore all over and his throat hurt.  His tongue felt like cotton in his mouth.  Why had he woken up?  He should just go back to sleep.

“Dean?”

The voice was careful, nervous.  And very out of place.

Dean turned his head to the other side.  Castiel sat in a chair next to the bed, but far enough away as to be out of reach.  He was scooted forward to the edge of the chair, like he wanted to get up, but his hands twisted nervously in his lap like he didn’t think Dean would want him to.  Why wouldn’t Dean want him?  He wanted him closer.  But it was so weird to see him in this room.

“I didn’t know you had a hospital room in your condo,” Dean croaked.  He needed some water.

“There’s some water here,” Castiel said, apparently reading his mind.  He stood up and poured water from a small pink pitcher into a matching pink plastic cup.

Castiel helped Dean take careful sips, and it felt amazingly good to his parched throat.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome.”

“Seriously though, where is this room?  Your condo can’t be that much bigger.  Is it behind a curtain I thought was a window?”

Castiel gave him a strange look as he put the pitcher down on the tray that hovered over the bottom part of the bed.

“We’re not in my condo, Dean,” he said with amusement, but also a touch of fear.  “This is a hospital.”

“But…

Dean really looked at Cas.  He was wearing a pair of blue scrubs.  Dean’s brain scraped together a few cells and thought back to the last time he’d seen Castiel.  He’d been throwing up like a bad prom date.  He’d vomited onto Castiel…gotten it on his clothes, his skin…he could see the tension around his eyes and mouth now.  He could see the tremor in his hands.

“Oh, fuck.  Castiel…I’m so sorry—”

“Shh,” Cas said, running a jittery hand through Dean’s hair.  “It’s okay.  You’re okay.  That’s what’s important.  You’ve been asleep since they moved you from the ER.  It’s Tuesday morning.”

Dean’s eyes widened.  “I was in a coma for three days?!”

“No, the doctor didn’t say it was a coma.  Just that your body was recovering.  You gave yourself alcohol poisoning, Dean.  They said if you didn’t wake up on your own by today, they were going to have to perform an MRI and check for blockages in your brain.  I’m glad you woke up.  I should inform a nurse.”

“Wait!  Don’t leave!”

Castiel hadn’t even turned away from him.  He took Dean’s hand and held it comfortingly between both of his.

“I wasn’t going to leave.  I was just going to push the call button.”

“Oh.”

“Um, but before she comes, you should know that I told them I’m your husband.  So they wouldn’t make me leave.”

“Oh, um,” Dean blushed.  “That’s fine.  Um.  Have you been here three days?”

Castiel nodded.  Dean managed a small smile, and then reality smacked him in his stupid fucking head when he saw how tightly Castiel was gripping his hand.

“Cas, how did we get here?  How did you get outside?”  He struggled to sit up.  “It doesn’t matter, but you have to go!  You have to get safe!”

“Shh,” Castiel hushed him again, pushing on his shoulders until he slumped back into the bed.  He combed his fingers through Dean’s hair again and held his hand.  “I couldn’t leave you.  Your father…well, and your brother is young…and I don’t know any of your other family.  I couldn’t leave you.  You wouldn’t leave me.”

Dean’s breathing stuttered over a sudden urge to cry.

“Cas…”

Then fear gripped his body.

“Sam.  Is Sam okay?  You can’t tell him about this.  He can’t know.”

Castiel dropped his eyes to the bed, his thumb stroking over the back of Dean’s hand.

“W-what?” Dean asked.

Castiel looked back at him.  “Sam has already been here.  He called your phone while you were in the emergency room.  The doctors didn’t know if…they wouldn’t tell me if they thought you would be okay.  I didn’t think it would be fair for your brother not to know and not be here.”

“He saw me like this?” Dean asked in a small voice.

“He’s worried, of course, but he’s okay.  He’s been harassing the doctors for information, not just on your condition, but on exactly what they’ve done to treat you.  He’s been writing it all down.  He’d make a good lawyer,” Cas mused.  “Not only is he dogged, but he’s really sharp and perceptive.  When he saw me in the room with a nurse, he called me Uncle Cas, knowing I needed to be family.”

“Uncle Cas?” Dean asked, trying to allow himself to be amused through the humiliation and pain.  “How old does he think you are?”

Cas smiled.  “At his age?  Who knows?  But, the nurse who was in the room corrected him with a knowing look.  Fortunately she’s been very kind and has not divulged our secret.  I should call her now.  A doctor should examine you.”

“O-okay.”

Castiel used one hand to push the call button, but he kept a hold of Dean’s hand.  Dean suspected it was just as much for his own benefit as Dean’s.  A minute later, a woman entered the room wearing fuchsia scrubs and a mischievous smirk.

“What can I do for ya, Cas?”

Dean eyes widened in recognition.

“Hello, Nurse Meg,” Castiel said fondly.  ( _And what the fuck?_ )  “Dean is awake.  I think a doctor should see him.”

“Oh, welcome back, Sleeping Beauty.”

Dean avoided eye contact.  Meg nudged Cas with her elbow.

“Did you kiss him and break the curse?”

“Uh, I um…”

Meg laughed and looked at Dean again.

“Well, Deano, I didn’t know you were ‘married.’”

“I didn’t know you were a nurse,” Dean replied peevishly.

“I didn’t know you two knew each other,” Castiel said in confusion.

“We don’t really,” Meg said.  “But we have a mutual acquaintance.”

Castiel looked at Dean questioningly.

“Your brother,” Dean mumbled.

It took a moment, but Castiel caught on.

“Oh.”  He looked back at Meg, and this time really gave her a once over.  ( _And, seriously, what the fuck?!_ )  “My brother has introduced me to a lot of his employees, but I guess we’ve never met because our tastes…run in the same direction.”

Meg’s smirk became even more smirky.  “Hmm.  Maybe one day we could compare notes.”

“I’m right here!” Dean complained loudly.  “Hospitalized husband, remember?”

“Right.  ‘Husband,’” Meg said rolling her eyes.  “I’ll go get Dr. Mills.”

“Thank you, Meg.”

“Later, Cas.”

Meg left the room and Dean scowled at Castiel.  He just smiled and put a thumb to Dean’s forehead, forcing him to relax his face.  Letting go of his annoyance (jealousy) made his whole body collapse back onto the bed.  He suddenly felt exhausted, which was stupid since apparently he’d been sleeping for three fucking days.  But his eyelids were drooping and Castiel’s hand was petting him soothingly again.

“It’s okay, Dean.  Rest.  I’ll watch over you.”

~~~

When Dean woke again, he felt like he’d actually gotten real sleep.  His body still felt bone-tired and sore, but his brain was functioning at normal levels.  Such as they were.

“Cas?”

“Hey, Dean.”

Dean turned his head and saw Sam putting down a book and standing up from the chair.  Maybe he had just dreamed Castiel had been there.  Sam approached the bed looking happy to see him.  And then he scowled.

“You asshole.  You scared me half to death.”

“S-sorry.”

“You know what’s going on with Dad, and then you decided it would be okay if I lost you too?”

“I-I’m sorry.”

Sam lunged forward and hugged him awkwardly with the railing in the way.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Sam said, his voice watery.  And shit, now Dean was going to cry.  “I’m not really mad, I’m just scared.”

“Yeah, I figured that…”

Sam pulled back, but he was still scowling.

“You better marry Cas for real after this.  He deserves it after everything he’s done for you.  For us.”

“Where is he?”

“I sent him home.  He didn’t want to leave, but once you were awake and talking, the doctors said you were out of the woods, so I convinced him he needed to go.  He was starting to…fray.  He doesn’t get out much, does he?”

“Not so much,” Dean said with quiet concern.  He should call Gabriel and have him check on Cas.

“He’s nice though,” Sam said.  “I like him a lot.”

“Yeah?”  Dean asked, getting an actual warm, fuzzy feeling in his chest.

“Yeah.  And obviously he loves you, so that gets him a gold star.”

Dean could tell that his eyes were wide and his face felt very warm.  More than likely Sam could see his blush.

“O-oh.  You guys aren’t at that stage yet.  Well, you could be.  I mean, I guess I don’t know about you for certain, but…I’m not wrong, am I?”

Dean dropped his eyes and fidgeted with the blanket.

“Well, I’m taking that as a yes,” Sam said dryly.  “I’m going to go find Dr. Mills.  She said when you woke up again, so as long as you knew your name and the date and stuff, you could go home today.”

“Can _you_ come home?”

Sam grinned.  “Cas didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“Let’s just get you discharged first, and then I’ll tell you.”

“Sam!”

“Plus, there’s somebody else who wants to see you.  Just got in.”

“W-wait—”

But Sam was out the door.  Dean frowned and looked around the room.  The chair now sat empty.  Had Cas moved from that spot in three days?  Had he eaten hospital food?  Had he slept?

Knocking on the door disturbed him from his guilt-ridden ponderings.  He called out to the person to come in.  The door opened and his eyes went wide again.  This time they filled with tears and there was nothing he could do to stop them from spilling over and down his cheeks.  The man moved quickly into the room and gathered Dean into his embrace.

“Hush now, boy.  It’s okay.  It’s alright.  Everything will be alright.”  He laid his chin on the top of Dean’s head and pulled him closer.  “Ya idgit.”


	13. Chapter 13

Dr. Mills was a pretty, no nonsense woman with a very understanding attitude regarding why Dean had wound up in the hospital.  She also called him an idiot.  Bobby had snorted and agreed.  Fortunately she discharged him with only a couple more warnings, a prescription for a short supply of anxiety meds, and a recommendation that he see a shrink and/or go to AA.  He’d mumbled a reply and left the hospital with Bobby and Sam.  Sam still wouldn’t tell him what Cas had done, but since Sam could come home with them instead of going to his foster family, he assumed he’d provided proof of employment and filed his paperwork.  The question was, what exactly kind of employment did he verify?

When they got to their building, it took Dean a little longer than usual to get up the stairs.  Bobby and Sam made fun of him for walking like an old man.  He told them to fuck off.  When they got into the apartment, all he wanted to do was go crash into bed, but he suspected Bobby and Sam were going to want to talk about what they were going to do about—

“Ahh!”  Dean started and had to grab onto the back of the couch.  “Dad!  What are you doing here?!  Did you escape?!”

Everyone chuckled but Dean didn’t think there was anything funny about the situation.

“No,” John said.  “I’m out on bail.”

“But how?  The judge said they weren’t even going to offer it as a possibility.”

“Well, they received some new evidence that weakened their case against me, so they released me although they haven’t dropped the charges.  Yet.”

“What new evidence?”

“There’s video of me in an Albuquerque holding cell during the time the kidnapping took place.  They also have a video that shows a man talking to…Adam…the day he was taken.  They’ve located him and are questioning him, though they haven’t arrested him yet.  They’ve also put a rush on the DNA testing for the samples under Kate’s nails.  That should clear me.”

Dean stared at him, trying to sort through his memories.  His father had told him he’d been arrested in New Mexico.  Even if they hadn’t charged him, there had to be a record of it.  A trustworthy record, apparently with video.  He was relieved that his gut reaction had been right: his father was innocent.

“How did you afford bail?”

“Uh, um.  Your, uh, your—”

“Cas paid it,” Sam said.  “He also paid to get Dad a new lawyer and got rid of that idiot Marv.  The new lawyer is the one who actually talked to Dad and then went searching for the evidence that Dad was in Mexico.”

“New Mexico,” Dean corrected absently.

“Whatever.  Mr. Cain—he’s the new lawyer and he’s totally hardcore—is also the one who put a rush on the paperwork for Bobby to get temporary guardianship of me.  Since he used to foster us back when we were kids, it wasn’t too hard.”

“In three days?” Dean asked, not quite believing it.

“Dude, you should meet Mr. Cain.  He’s scary.”

“And Cas…paid for all of this?”

“Yeah.  He’s awesome,” Sam grinned.

“He is a very generous man,” John added.  “A kind man.  A nice man.”

Dean narrowed his eyes slightly at John.  “Yes, Dad, Cas is a _man_.”  Then something occurred to him.  “Have you…met him?”

John nodded.  “He came to see me when he brought in Mr. Cain.  And he also kept me updated about your condition.”

Oh, this was all just terribly fucking awkward.  His father had met the man who made him scream in agonized pleasure.

“An-and…you’re okay with the fact that Cas is a man?  I mean…you understand that he’s…not just a friend.”

“Yes, I did figure that part out,” John said with a small lopsided smile.  “Hard not to tell how much he’s in love with you.”

Dean covered his face with his hands.  “Jesus.”

“And I’m okay with it.  Hell.  I thought Bobby and Rufus were together for years.”

“Moron,” Bobby grumbled.

“After all, I have to be okay with it, right?  If I want to stay in your and Sam’s lives.  And I do want that.  Going through withdrawal in jail was terrible, especially since I did have options.  But, when my head was finally clear—I felt—better.  Don’t get me wrong, I did and still do, feel like crap.  Shaking off an—an addiction,” he actually said the word, “isn’t easy.  But my head is finally free.  Minus the occasional migraine.  And I want to stay sober.  And I want to be there for you and Sam.  And, apparently, my new son-in-law.  I just heard the news.”

Dean shot Sam a look and he snickered.

“I’m going to go to AA, Dean.  I promise I’m going to make a change.  I can’t lose my boys.  Not another…”

John cut off with a choked sob.  He turned his back on the group and pressed his hands on the kitchen bar as his head dropped down.  His shoulders began shaking, but if he was crying he was doing it silently.

“Dad,” Dean said, approaching his father tentatively.  “Did you know him?”

John nodded.  “A little.”  He sucked back another sob.  “I found out about him when he was five.  I visited him occasionally.  Took him to a baseball game on his birthdays.  He was a sweet kid, like you, Dean.”

Dean was a little surprised by his father’s assessment of his personality.

“He was also pretty snarky, like Sam.  He was a good kid.  You two would have liked him.”

His father broke off again and Dean moved to put an arm around his shoulders.

“I’m sorry, Dad.  With everything going on, it never occurred to me that…you’d lost a child.”

John didn’t respond right away.  A few more sobs shook his body, and then he cleared his throat and shook himself.  He turned around, pulling out of Dean’s grasp.  He must have wiped his cheeks when he turned away from Dean to come back around to face everyone.  He crossed his arms over his chest and looked back in control again.  John Winchester, stoic to the core.

“They finally released the bodies and the funerals are on Saturday,” John said.  “I think we should all go.  As a family.”

“I don’t know how the Milligans would feel about that,” Bobby said softly.  “Seein’ as how some of ‘em still think you did it.”

“Mr. Cain said the forensics will be back tomorrow or Thursday.  It’ll prove my innocence.”

“Yeah, I don’t know, Dad,” Dean said.  “We didn’t know him…”

John went rigid, but he didn’t say anything.

“Let’s see what the forensics conclude,” Dean said.  “We know you’re innocent, I don’t mean that.  I just mean we need to see what it will do for their family.”

John nodded.  Everyone stood awkwardly now.  Three emotionally constipated men and a teenage boy who wasn’t quite sure what to say, but saved them anyway.

“I’m hungry.”

“I’m starvin’,” Bobby said.  “We should go to the Roadhouse for dinner.  See Ellen ‘n Jo.”

“Can you guys bring me something back?  I’m still kind of tired.  And, uh, there’s someone I really need to call.”

Everyone nodded sagely, like they all knew exactly who Dean was calling and why.  Well, of course they did.

“Just don’t get overly sappy and propose over the phone,” Sam said.  “You can’t propose until you have a ring.”

“I’m not going to propose at all.  Go get some dinner and tell Ellen I’m not coming to see her until I have a signed document stating she won’t hit me upside the head.”

Bobby snorted.  “Don’t hold your breath on that one, son.”

John glanced over at Bobby, but didn’t comment on the endearment.  They gathered up their accoutrements and then filed toward the door, slowly, watching him.

“I’m not calling until you leave so don’t drag your feet on my account,” Dean said snippily.

The three put their hands in the air and then left.  The door closed behind them and Dean relaxed.  And then immediately tensed.  Holy shit what was he possibly going to say to Cas?  Thank you for cleaning up the mess that is my life?  Thank you for not hating my guts for the horrible things I said to you?  Maybe he should go to talk to him in person?  Dean blanched at the thought if seeing him in person at the moment.  He couldn’t say everything he had to say if he had to look at him.  If they were in his condo which had too many memories and conflicting emotions, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to make sense of the mess in his head.

Dean walked into his bedroom, shut the door, and closed the blinds.  He plugged his phone into the wall and then lay down on his bed.  He stared at Castiel’s name as it glowed on screen, dimmed, and the cut to black three times before he finally found his balls quivering under the bed with the dust bunnies.  He put the phone to his ear, longing to hear Castiel’s voice again.  Had it really only been a few hours since he’d seen him?  It felt like—

“Who’s this?” a grating voice greeted him, lips smacking as the asker chewed on something.

“Uh…Gabriel?”

“Yeahhhhh, who’s this?”

“It’s Dean.  Winchester.”

“Ah.  Dean.  Been meaning to talk to you.”

Dean felt dread pool in the pit of his stomach.  Suddenly there was hissed whispering and scuffling over the line.  And then…

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas…”  Dean put a hand over his eyes and didn’t try to stop the tears.  There was no one around to see them anyway.

“Are you okay?  Did they release you from the hospital?”

Dean nodded.  And then sniffed back his tears.  “Uh, yeah.  I’m home.  I saw Dad…”  Dean’s voice cracked and he had to stop for a second.  “Th-thank you.  For everything.  I don’t know why you helped me.”

“I’m sure you do know, Dean,” Cas said meaningfully.

“But why?  After what I said to you…”

“I’ve certainly said things in the heat of anger that I didn’t mean.  It doesn’t erase everything else.”

“Cas, I can’t…thank you enough or…I’ll pay you back.  Every penny.”

“If you feel you must.  But I must warn you, my interest rate is quite high and I don’t take it as a monetary value.”

Castiel’s voice had slipped into that low cockiness he used when he came up with a new punishment for Dean.  His body responded without his consent and he clutched the phone tighter.

“Cas…”

“Yes, Dean?”

Dean shook his head.  “Please tell me that you’re okay.  Please tell me that taking care of me didn’t…hurt you.  Or set you back…”

“No, not at all.  Well, I was a little rattled when I first got home and it all really hit me, but Gabriel, as you may have guessed, has been here.  Helping me cope.  My sister Anna has also been here.”

“So, you haven’t…?”  Dean didn’t know how to ask what was on his mind tactfully.

“Gone catatonic and wet the bed?”

Dean closed his eyes against his own words.

“No.  I did avoid that.  I’m okay, Dean.  Really.  I’m just glad that you are okay.  And that Mr. Cain has been able to help your father.  And that Mr. Singer was able to take on Sam.”

“You met Bobby too?”

“I did.  I liked him very much.”

“Yeah.  He’s, uh, kind of like a grumpy, tough love angel.”

Castiel laughed.  “I’ve met him for thirty minutes altogether, but I’m pretty certain he would object to being called an angel.”

“You really do know him.”

There was silence over the line.

“Cas, can I see you?”

“Of course, Dean.  Whenever you like.  But, I feel you should be with your family for the next few days.”

“Yeah…Dad wants us to go to the funerals.  I don’t know if you heard this part, but the boy was my father’s son.”

“I did hear that.  When is it?”

“It’s on Saturday.  And I just don’t know.  I mean…I didn’t know the kid.”

“True.  But he was your brother.”

“Not really.  I never met him.  I have no feelings for him.”

“Dean, your father just lost a child and I think he would like the support.  Besides, he was only ten years old.  When he was older, he may have tried to contact you.  Tried to be your family.”

“Yeah…”  Dean’s voice wavered again.  “Shit.  Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize to me.  And you don’t need to worry about me right now.  Focus on your family.  I have Gabriel.  Such as he is.”

Dean smiled.  “Do you think Gabriel is going to try to kill me the next time he sees me?”

“No,” Cas said, smile evident in his voice.  “I think I’ve managed to convince him that you’ve been very good for me.”

There was scuffling again.

“Hey, Deano, you’re fired by the way.”

Dean froze, his heart seized up like a shriveled pea.

“For God’s sake, Gabriel, buzz off.  Dean.  Listen to me.”

Dean’s attention immediately focused on Castiel’s voice.

“Rest over the next couple of days.  Attend your brother’s funeral.  And then we will talk in person.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Excellent.  You’re so good for me.”

Dean relaxed and basked in Castiel’s praise.

And then, “No, Gabriel, we are not having phone sex!”  Cas sighed heavily.  “Goodnight, Dean.”

“Goodnight, Cas.”

~~~

It was already past eighty degrees on Saturday morning at 9:00.  It would certainly only get worse.  Cicadas hummed nosily in the trees that dotted the cemetery.  The sun shone brightly onto to vibrant green grass that was surviving the scorching summer only due to diligent watering.  Aside from the heat, it was a beautiful summer day.  The kind of day where it seemed wrong to bury a ten year old child and his mother.

Dean tugged on the collar of his shirt, the black suit making him sweat more than usual.  Sam was wilting next to him.  On his other side, John sat stiffly.  Bobby had opted not to come.

They’d received the phone call on Thursday: the tissue samples under Kate Milligan’s nails had not matched John’s DNA.  But it had matched that of the man who had been questioned as the last one to see the boy alive.  He’d been arrested and had confessed within a few hours.  The charges against John had been dropped, and Kate’s family had, somewhat reluctantly, asked him if he wanted to attend the funerals.

It was pretty standard, ashes to ashes, dust to dust.  There was quiet, dignified sniffling until the coffins were lowered into the ground.  Then an elderly woman began to wail loudly and her family did what they could to comfort her.  The Winchesters went through the line, dropping a handful of dirt into Adam Milligan’s grave.  The coffin was small.  Dean had to look away to fight back more tears.

A little ways off, standing in the shade of a tree, was a man with dark hair wearing a suit.  And a long, tan trench coat in weather that was rapidly approaching ninety.  He gave the keys to the Dart to Sam, since his father still didn’t have his license, and told them he would see them later.  Possibly not until tomorrow.  Sam had given him a knowing smile.

“Say hi to Cas for me.”

He ruffled Sam’s hair and walked across the neatly cropped grass, marred only by the stone epithets of lost loves and splintered families.  He stopped in front of Castiel and put his hands in his pockets.

“Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

“Cas…”

“Yes?”

“I need you.”

Castiel nodded.  “Come with me.”

They began walking through the cemetery side by side.  They were almost to the exit, and then Dean couldn’t take it anymore.

“So, what’s with the coat?”

“It’s, uh…well, it was my brother’s.  And it’s a comfort.  Like it’s shielding me from…everything out here.”

Dean nodded in understanding.

And then, “You know that’s a little weird, right?”

“Baby steps,” he replied.

~~~

Gabriel had driven them to Castiel’s condo.  That might have been in the top five most awkward moments of his life, including when Rhonda Hurly found him trying on her panties.  (In his head, the story had morphed into “she made me do it,” but his subconscious knew the truth.)  Dean wasn’t certain if the awkwardness came from Gabriel still being a little angry at him, or because the man knew he was essentially driving them to Cas’ condo so they could get their freak on.  Either way nobody talked, which was more than disturbing when it came to Gabriel.  When he dropped them off he rolled down his window and glared at Dean (though the effect was somewhat ruined by the lollipop in his mouth).

“You remember that conversation we had in the garage, right?”

“Not enough left for a DNA test.  Got it.”

“Alright then.”

Gabriel rolled up his window and peeled out into traffic.  Dean followed Castiel inside and they rode the elevator in silence.  As they got closer to his door, Dean felt his unease grow.  He could feel the same tension radiating off of Cas.  They both took their shoes off outside, but when they stepped inside, Castiel told him to just to set them down on top of the footlocker because he was trying to relax his germaphobic tendencies.

Dean was glad that Castiel seemed to be—unclenching, but with the shoes on top of the footlocker, it seemed like he wasn’t supposed to open it.  He couldn’t get out the vinyl collar for his bath.  He didn’t know what he should do from here.

“Come with me,” Castiel said, and then added, “Please.”

And they were back to the awkward formalness that had all but disappeared over the past couple of months.  Dean followed Cas with his head down.  He watched his feet and didn’t pay attention to where they were going.  He saw that they entered Castiel’s bedroom, and the man picked up the mahogany box from the nightstand.  He approached Dean and held it out to him.

“Would you like to put it on?”

Dean considered.  They needed to have a conversation outside of the arrangement, but for now their arrangement was the only thing he felt comfortable with.  He nodded his head and Castiel opened the box.  Dean picked up his collar, running his fingers along the soft lambskin lining and his thumbs over the strip of green below the studs.  This was his, and only his, but it showed that he belonged to _him_.  Without the collar on he had a choice.  He chose what the collar symbolized and fastened it into place.  He immediately relaxed and Castiel followed suit.

“You can undress if you like, but leave your underwear on.”

Dean took off the suit piece by piece until he was in grey boxer-briefs.  Castiel waved him around the bed and Dean followed.  Castiel led him to a set of French doors that overlooked one of the large city parks in Huntsville.

Dean stopped in his tracks and blinked.  He looked around.  The heavy brown drapes were pulled aside on the windows next to the closet, and completely gone from the doors next to the bed.  He hadn’t even noticed a difference in lighting because Castiel’s artificial light had mimicked real daylight so well.  Now he could see that next to the bed was not a wall with drapes hanging on it for effect, but double doors that led out onto…

“Holy crap.  You have a balcony.”

“I do.”

Castiel pulled on the doors and they swung inwards.  Then he stepped out onto the balcony and sat down in a lounge chair.  He gestured at the other one for Dean.  Dean looked at it.  It must have been two, maybe two and a half feet away from Cas.  He took the cushion off the seat and put it on the ground right next to Castiel’s chair and sat down on it near his hip.  Castiel raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment.  He just put a hand in Dean’s hair, and he leaned his head on Cas’ thigh, looking up at him.

They stayed that way for a while, enjoying the familiarity of their positions.  Dean eventually curled an arm around Castiel’s thigh and relaxed against him completely.  Castiel’s hand occasionally drifted from his hair and traced the shell of his ear or down his neck.  The sounds of the city were muted this high up, but they were there.  They weren’t isolated in Castiel’s bubble anymore, and yet, their relationship still made sense and brought them comfort.

Quietly, perhaps so as not to disturb their peace or because he was scared to say the words out loud, Castiel began speaking.

“I told you that the reason I shut myself in and became so afraid of the outside world and what could happen in it was because I had hit and killed a little girl.  Which is true…and while it fucked with my head something vicious, I probably could have survived it.  In time, I probably would have been able to resume my life again…but there’s a little bit more.

“That little girl was the daughter of the leader of a motorcycle club based out of Amiable, across the border in Iowa.  He was devastated by the death of his daughter, and he was enraged when I wasn’t charged with murder or at least vehicular manslaughter.  As you can imagine, he had ways of doling out his own brand of justice.  He never did anything himself, of course, but he had people who worked for him, who were like family to him really, who were more than willing to act on his behalf.

“He sent his people after me.  And one night…they found me.”

Dean raised his head.

“They stalked me from home.  They kidnapped me.  Beat me, tortured me.  Sodomized me with an iron pipe.”

Dean’s arm tightened around Castiel’s leg.

“And then…then they killed me.  A bullet to the gut.  They let me die slowly.  And painfully.  And they watched until the end, just to make sure.”

Dean’s brow was creased in extreme confusion, but he took Castiel’s hand in his and squeezed it, supporting him no matter how little he understood what the man was talking about.  Castiel’s gaze had gone unfocused as he stared straight ahead, but when Dean squeezed his hand, he looked down and locked eyes with him.

“I had a twin brother.  They mistook him for me.  It should have been me.  My brother was tortured and killed because of me.  Or hell, maybe they knew it wasn’t me.”

“Cas, you can’t—”

“Blame myself?  Of course I can.  And I do.  Even with hours and hours of therapy explaining to me how I don’t control others’ actions and how accidents ultimately are faultless if there’s no intent.  But I couldn’t accept that.  Every time I went out, every time I stood next to somebody I loved, I had to wonder—were they going to be hurt or killed today?  Because they were with me?  It just became easier to stay inside.  So that no one around me would get hurt.  The real fear that kept me inside wasn’t that something terrible would happen to me, but that I would be the reason something terrible happened to someone else.  Those thoughts combined with my self-imposed isolation and OCD turned me into what I am.”

“Was,” Dean said softly.

Cas attempted a smile and stroked Dean’s hair.  “Am, but fighting it.  That night you got sick—”

Dean dropped his head down in shame, but Castiel put a hand under his chin and made him look back up.

“That night you got sick, I realized that if I allowed myself to become overwhelmed and paralyzed by my fears that something bad was going to happen due to my inaction.  That staying locked up inside would result in you being hurt.  Or worse.”  Castiel took in a shuddering breath.  “I had to stay with you, even after the ambulance arrived.  The thought of losing you, Dean—it was so terrifying that everything I had been worried about and scared of for years seemed so trivial.”

Cas drew breath, but then didn’t speak again.  He placed his hand on top of Dean’s and held his gaze steadily.  There was a small measure of doubt in his eyes, but he looked sure about his own feelings.  Dean squeezed his hand again and licked his lips.

“Cas…you have to know…I can’t keep doing this for money.”

Castiel nodded.  “Technically, you’re not right now.  Gabriel did fire you.”

Dean let out a small laugh, and then he bit his lip, his face embarrassingly scrunching up as he fought tears.

“I…”

“Come here,” Cas said and Dean crawled into his lap.

Castiel took his face in his hands, and then slid them down to his neck.  He unfastened the collar and set it down carefully on a small table next to the chair.  Then he took Dean’s face in his hands again and kissed him.  Dean leaned into him, pressing their mouths together firmly, and circling his arms around his neck possessively.  They pulled back and Castiel nuzzled Dean’s nose with his.  Dean smiled and rested their foreheads together.

“Does this mean I can’t sub for you anymore?”

“Of course you can.  It still works the same way.  Collar on, you’re mine.  Collar off—”

“I’m still yours.”  Dean pulled back and put a hand to his face.  “Oh, fuck.  That was cheesy.”

Castiel laughed and hugged Dean tightly to him.  “I liked it.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

Dean pulled away and Castiel tried to hold onto him, but Dean slipped free.

“Wait, come back!  It wasn’t that corny!”

Castiel got off the chaise and followed him inside, through the bedroom, and into the main room.

“What are you doing?” Castiel asked.

Dean walked up to the structure on the white furry carpet.  He took the frames on the shelves above his and tossed them down onto the lowers shelves.  Then he moved his own frame to the top shelf.

“I think I earned that,” Dean said, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Hmm,” Castiel said, observing the mess Dean had made.  “Perhaps it’s time I got rid of the others altogether.”

“Ya think?” Dean asked dryly.

“But don’t you think this shelving unit will look strange with only one frame on it?”

“Cas, baby…”

“Yes, honey?”

They gave each other mild looks.

“We are remodeling this whole condo.  And this shelving unit is not making the cut.”

Castiel’s face froze for a moment.  Just like a computer screen glitching out.  Then he tried to get himself to function again.

“Unh-huh.  Okay.  Whole new, uh, starting over thing.”

Dean smiled and nudged him with his elbow.  “You sure?”

Castiel nodded.  “Yes.  Because I love you.”

Dean blushed and looked away.  “Well.  Okay then.  Um.  Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes, sir?” Dean asked, as he turned his head in question.

Castiel laughed and circled his arms around Dean’s neck.  He pulled him down just enough for a sweet, chaste kiss on the lips.

“Never mind,” Cas murmured and kissed him again.

Dean wrapped his arms around Castiel’s waist and returned his kiss, making it unhurried and probing.  He pulled back just the tiniest bit, just enough to mumble, “Love you too.”  When he resumed kissing him, he could feel Castiel’s smile against his lips.


	14. Epilogue

“Give it up for Michael!” the announcer at Heavenly Host shouted.

Dean watched the young, muscular pretty boy with dark hair (who kind of looked like his father when he’d been younger) wave to the crowd and wink at everyone as he scooped up the bills from the stage.  Then he disappeared backstage and the lights dimmed for the next dancer.

“Did you like him, Dean?” Castiel asked casually.

Dean knew it was a trick question; either way Castiel was going to push the button on that damn remote.

“He’s good looking.  But he’s got nothing on you,” Dean replied evenly.

Sure enough, the vibrator in his ass kicked up another couple of notches.  Dean held back a moan and tilted his head back.  Castiel’s hand turned from stroking his collar, to playing with his hair.

They did this sometimes—took their play out into public.  It was a kink Castiel had added to Section Four.  Even though they were in a stable, personal relationship, Cas still insisted their d/s activities be regulated by a contract.  He still had OCD after all.  Going outside hadn’t cured him of that; in fact, it had made him a little bit more diligent about keeping everything in their new condo properly in its place.  Outside though, he probably got off on exhibitionism so much because he’d been shut in for so long.  Dean didn’t mind it, so long as they were discreet about it.

“You know,” Dean said, leaning over to whisper in Castiel’s ear.  “I think I liked you better as a recluse.  You couldn’t pull this kind of kinky shit in public.”

The vibrator flicked up to full speed.

Dean leaned against Cas and whimpered softly.  “Cas, please…”

“Hush.  Be a good boy and watch the show.”

Castiel made him sit through three more dances, his hand on his groin, massaging Dean through his jeans as he took in the show like he was watching fucking Shakespeare at The Globe.  When they finally left, Dean could barely walk straight let alone think straight, which was why he had no problem with letting Castiel lay him out flat in the backseat of the Impala and take his clothes off.

Ah…the Impala.  After Adam’s funeral, John had had a long talk with Bobby and decided to move in with him in Sioux Falls and supplement his AA meetings with the kind of work that had once made him happy: fixing cars.  Bobby’s salvage yard had an endless supply of junkers that John fixed up and then started selling on Craig’s List.  He gave the money to Bobby in exchange for room and board.  In the back of the salvage yard, John had found her.

The old, black ’67 Impala that had been one of Dean’s favorite things in the whole world when he’d been little.  It was also the car they were all in when the accident had happened--when the outdated seatbelts had failed his mother.  It was still smashed into a tangled wreckage and when John showed it to Dean, Dean had asked if it was at all possible to salvage a car that far gone.  John had replied that nothing was ever too far gone to save.  John only worked on it on the weekends Dean visited so that they could fix her up together.  It took them over a year to finish, but when they did she was sleek and beautiful and purred like a kitten and roared like lion.  John had insisted Dean take her.

He was respectful of her and took care of her better than he did himself.  Except on rare occasions when Castiel got him so revved up he didn’t care about the leather interior getting a little sticky and sweaty.  Like at the moment he couldn’t be bothered to give it any consideration as Castiel fucked himself on Dean’s dick while that stupid vibrator still buzzed away at his prostate.  They tested the car’s suspension that night and the windows fogged up completely.  When they were lounging together in the afterglow, feet propped up on the front bench seat, Dean pretended like he didn’t see the Titantic-style hand swipe through the condensation on one window.

Castiel reached his hands for Dean’s collar.

“Done?” he asked, still a little out of breath.

Dean nodded and Castiel removed the collar so that they could just be Dean and Cas.  Dean and Cas sitting naked in the back seat of a fogged up car in the parking lot of strip joint hoping a cop didn’t feel the need to investigate.  Dean settled against Castiel’s side, his head on his shoulder, and they twined the fingers of their left hands together.

“I can’t believe my little brother is graduating high school in three days,” Dean said wistfully.

“I can’t believe I’m almost forty and I’m banging a twenty-five year old,” Castiel said.

Dean rolled his eyes.  “You’re not ‘almost forty.’”

“Closer to forty than you are to thirty.”

Dean shrugged.

“So.  What are you going to do after Sam graduates?  You should be finishing up your Associate’s degree by the end of summer, right?”

Dean opened his mouth.

“You are not following Sam to Palo Alto,” Castiel cut him off.

Dean pouted.

“Don’t be creepy.”

“Fine,” Dean groused.  “What do you think we should do?  I think we should do something together.”

“Well,” Castiel said, pondering their options.  “I’m still afraid to leave Huntsville’s city limits, and you’re afraid to fly…”

Dean frowned.  He was going to kill Sam later for spilling the beans on that one.

“So, I think we should go to Rome.”

Dean’s eyebrows shot up and he turned so that he could look at Cas.  “For real?”

“Why not?”

Dean considered reminding him about the reasons why not he had just mentioned, but instead he turned back around and snuggled into Castiel’s side.

“Why not?” Dean echoed.


	15. Credits

First, a huge thanks to the mods of the [DCBB ](deancasbigbang.livejournal.com)who organize this fantastic event and volunteer their time to make sure it is enjoyable for writers, artists, and readers.

Second, I'd like to thank my AMAZINGLY fabulous artist, esper-aroon.  She is absolutely amazing and made FOUR pieces for my story.  You can see her pieces in the "Art" chapter, and also on her blog, here: [Art by esper-aroon for _I Wanna Get Outside (Of Me)_ by emwebb17](http://esper-aroon.tumblr.com/tagged/IWGO%20art).  You should check out all of her amazing art and send her some love for all the hard work she put in!

Thirdly I'd like to thank my beta chesire-kitten for taking the time to edit this while busy with school work.  The input was invaluable.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“Flight Control, this is American Airlines Flight 4268 out of Omaha Eppley Airfield en route to Chicago O’Hare International.  We’re requesting permission and route guidance for turning the plane around and making an emergency landing at Eppley.  Over.”

“Roger that, AA 4268.  We should be able to clear a space for you and get the runway clear in about ten minutes.  Can you report the nature of your emergency?  Over.”

“Yeah…apparently there are a couple of men in first class in hysterics.  We think it’ll be better for everyone if we put them back on the ground.  Over.”

“Ten-four.  Do you anticipate needing medical or police assistance?  Over.”

“That’s a negative, Flight Control.  Though a bartender might be of use.”

“Roger that.”

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The title of the fic comes from the Foo Fighters song "Outside."  You can listen to it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dV7c6ThfXvs).

Quoted text was taken from Stephen Hawking's _A Brief History of Time_ , 1998 edition published by Bantam Books.

Curious about that Diet Coke commercial?  You can watch it [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=TdrE1VMxzoE).

I would be remiss if I did not also include two amazing works that inspired me to write this fic.  I'm sure most everyone has read them both as they are superb works of literature.

The first is [_Have Love, Will Travel_](https://archiveofourown.org/works/565455) by squeemonster  I love her Castiel in this AU, and it made me want to write my own damaged version of him.

The second is _Carry On_ by tamryneradani  It was really the first d/s fic I ever read and it made me want to try my hand at writing D/C as d/s.

Finally, thank you to everyone who read my scribblings.  <3


	16. Additional Tags and Warnings

**List of potentially triggering situations and sexual activities and the chapter in which they appear. See below the list for a detailed description of a particular event.**

 

Castiel suffers from the following phobias for the duration of the fic; his struggles with them are mentioned in some way in every chapter.

 _Agoraphobia_ : A pathological fear of places and situations that might cause panic or helplessness.

 _Mysophobia_ : A pathological fear of contamination and germs.

Dystychiphobia: A pathological fear of accidents.

 

Abusive language – 1, 8, 10, 12

Alcoholism – 3, 7, 8, 12

Anal Sex (barebacking) – 8, 9, 10, Epilogue

Come play – 4, 5, 6

Bondage – 8, 9, 10

Death of a child – 8, 10, 12

Dildos/Vibrators/Toys – 4, 10, Epilogue

Douching – 3

Felching – 9

Fingering – 4, 6, 10

Hand jobs – 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 9

Homophobic behavior – 3, 8

Intracrural sex – 6

Kinda sorta but not really at all incest – 4

Masochism – 3, 4, 7, 9

Masturbation – 3, 4, 6, 9

Memories of underage sexual activities – 2, 6

Miscommunication resulting in a significant event – 3, 6, 7, 10

Minor physical abuse – 1, 2, 7, 10

Oral Sex – 3, 4, 5, 6, 7

Orgasm Delay/Denial – 4

PTSD – 5, 9, 13

Punishment – 4, 6, 9

Rimming – 7, 10

Semi-Public Sex – Epilogue

Sexual contact between Dean and clients that aren’t Cas – 1, 8

Spanking/Flogging – 7, 9

Sub-drop – 6

Voyeurism – 3, 4, 6

 

  

Spoilers Below

 

 

**Chapter 1**

_Sexual contact between Dean and clients that aren’t Cas_ : back story/memories of Dean’s work as a stripper and a sub at a D/S club; Dean provides a lap dance to a client and accepts extra money to get them both off though there is no skin to skin contact

  _Minor physical abuse_ : Dean witnesses a meeting of a dom client getting in trouble for being too rough with his submissive at Gabriel’s club

  _Abusive language_ : a man uses derogatory language toward two women

 

**Chapter 2**

_Memories of underage sexual activities_ : Dean briefly remembers a dangerous incident involving breath play when he was 16

  _Minor physical abuse_ : Dean briefly remembers a scene that pushed him too far physically

 

**Chapter 3**

_Homophobic behavior_ : Dean remembers an incident where employees as the strip club he works at were jumped by a couple men before being fought off

  _Alcoholism_ : Brief description of John’s struggle with alcoholism

  _Douching_ : Castiel uses a shower attachment to douche Dean

  _Miscommunication resulting in a significant event_ : Dean and Cas engage in sexual activity without being on the same page about whether or not their d/s arrangement has begun, which upsets Dean

  _Oral sex_ : Dean deepthroats Cas without the aid of his hands

  _Masochism_ : Cas discovers Dean is a masochist by over-stimulating his nipples; Cas slaps Dean openhanded

  _Masturbation/Voyeurism_ : Cas watched Dean jack off

  _Hand jobs_ – Cas uses his hand to jack both himself and Dean off

 

**Chapter 4**

_Oral sex_ : Cas blows Dean

  _Masturbation_ : Cas jerks off while Dean is bent over the sink and leaves Dean hanging

  _Fingering/Voyeurism/Dildos_ : Cas watches Dean finger himself open, and the fucks Dean with a glass dildo before rubbing his dick between Dean’s ass cheeks to get off

  _Hand jobs/come play_ : Cas uses his hand on Dean while he sits in his lap, and then Cas licks some of Dean’s semen off his hand and kisses him

  _Punishment/Masochism_ : Cas doles out a mild punishment in the form of overstimulating Dean’s nipple with his mouth and teeth

  _Orgasm Delay/Denial/Fingering/Toys_ : Cas uses a prostate stimulator on Dean and denies him an orgasm for a prolonged period

  _Masturbation/Voyeurism_ : Dean discovers Cas jerked off while watching him sleep (this does not bother Dean)

  _Punishment/Oral Sex/Orgasm Delay/Come play:_  Cas punishes Dean by making him read a book and stave off orgasm while he blows him and the event is video recorded with Dean’s consent; Cas swallows and they kiss after

  _Kinda sorta but not really at all incest:_  Cas reveals that he’d unknowingly had sex with a third cousin

 

**Chapter 5**

_Oral sex/hand jobs/come play/masochism (minor)_ : Cas slaps Dean; Dean gives Cas a blow job who then comes on his face and Dean swallows some; Cas jerks Dean off and then licks some semen off his hand

  _PTSD_ : Cas has an episode that results in him huddling in bed and unable to get up even to take care of his bodily functions

 

**Chapter 6**

_Punishment/masturbation/voyeurism/fingering/oral sex/come play_ : Cas makes Dean get himself off using only one finger; Cas fucks Dean’s mouth and makes him swallow

  _Memories of underage sexual activities_ : Dean remembers the first time he deepthroated at age 15; the experience was dangerously rough and unpleasant

  _Sub-drop/miscommunication resulting in a significant event_ : Dean experiences sub-drop after his latest punishment; Castiel doesn’t notice right away; it is resolved by the end of the chapter

  _Intracrural sex/hand jobs/come play_ : Dean inserts his erection between Cas’ thighs and gets off while jacking Cas off; Cas feeds Dean some of his semen

 

**Chapter 7**

_Spanking/flogging_ : Brief descriptions of Cas using a riding crop, flogger, cat-o-nine tails, and paddle on Dean; extended spanking scene of Cas using his hand while Dean is bent over a bondage bench

  _Masochism_ : Cas slaps Dean several times

  _Rimming_ : Cas rims Dean

  _Oral sex/hand jobs/come play_ : Dean sucks Cas off and swallows, then jerks off onto him

  _Alcoholism/minor physical abuse_ : John returns home drunk and accidentally elbows Dean in the face; Dean has to take care of him after he vomits and wets himself

  _Miscommunication resulting in a significant event_ : Castiel is wary about touching Dean after his injury, but Dean thinks he finds him disgusting and is hurt by his cold demeanor and unwillingness to touch him; it is resolved by the end of the chapter

  _Oral sex:_ Dean performs oral sex on Cas while he takes a Skype call

 

**Chapter 8**

_Bondage/anal sex (barebacking)_ : Dean is tied to a wall and Cas penetrates him for the first time

  _Death of a child_ : In an ongoing news story about a missing child, Sam tells Dean that the bodies of the child and his mother were found

  _Abusive language/homophobic behavior_ : It is mentioned that one character uses derogatory terms for the strippers

  _Sexual contact between Dean and clients that aren’t Cas_ : Dean works a private party at a strip club; he performs with two other strippers; two of the strippers accept money to give blowjobs; Dean begins to give a lap dance for a client, but when he touches him he gets up and leaves

  _Alcoholism_ : Dean comes home to find his apartment trashed by a drunken John who is passed out on the floor

 

**Chapter 9**

_Felching_ : Very brief mention of Cas felching Dean and then kissing him earlier

  _Punishment/masturbation_ : Cas punishes Dean while making him pick up beads from the floor while blindfolded; Cas jerks off as he watches, and then straddles Dean so they can finish together

 _Hand jobs_ : Dean puts a strip tease for Cas and grinds in his lap, then Cas jerks him off

  _PTSD_ : Cas has episode that triggers his OCD, he cleans until his skin is red and raw

  _Punishment/flogging_ : Cas punishes Dean by using a belt on him and takes him to the edge of his limits

  _Anal sex (barebacking)/masochism_ : Dean and Cas have rough sex on the foor

  _Bondage/anal sex (barebacking)_ : Dean is blindfolded, gagged, and his wrists are tied to his ankles which are in a spreader bar while Cas fucks him

 

**Chapter 10**

_Miscommunication resulting in a significant event_ : Cas mistakenly thinks Dean wants to go on a date and Dean mistakenly thinks Cas wants him to go; it is resolved

  _Rimming/fingering/anal sex (barebacking)_ : Cas rims and fingers Dean open, and then fucks him

  _Dildos/Vibrators/Toys_ : Brief descriptions of past activities: Dean and Cas attempting role play, Dean wearing panties, using toys to the point of things not being totally sexy

  _Death of a child_ : Cas tells Dean a part of why he is so damaged; he accidentally hit and killed a child with his car and has been frightened of causing accidents ever since

  _Abusive language/minor physical abuse_ : Dean and Cas get into a fight that involves shouting insults and a minor physical scuffle; they make up before parting ways

  _Bondage_ : Dean is gagged, blindfolded, and chained to the wall; actual scene not described

 

**Chapter 11**

_PTSD_ : Dean helps Cas deal with leaving the building when the fire alarm goes off

  _Anal sex (barebacking)_ : Cas rides Dean (doming from the bottom)

 

**Chapter 12**

_Death of a child:_ John is arrested for the murder of Kate and Adam Milligan, Sam is taken into custody by Child Protective Services

 _Abusive language_ : Dean speaks in anger and marginalizes Cas’ phobias

 _Alcoholism_ : Dean copes with his father’s arrest by drinking too much and getting alcohol poisoning

 

**Chapter 13**

_PTSD_ : Cas tells Dean why he is the way he is. In addition to accidentally killing the little girl, her father sought revenge by attacking, raping, and murdering his twin brother.  Cas has been unable to go outside for fear that he would somehow be responsible for someone else getting hurt or killed

 

**Epilogue**

_Semi-public sex/vibrators/anal sex(barebacking)_ : Cas makes Dean wear a vibrator in public, then Cas rides Dean (doming from the bottom) in the Impala in a parking lot


	17. Artwork by esper-aroon

Here are the FOUR pieces the talented esper-aroon made for my fic.  I was floored that she went above and beyond.  I hope you all enjoy them too.  You can find the post on Tumblr [here](http://esper-aroon.tumblr.com/tagged/IWGO%20art), as well as the links for her other artworks.


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